THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Education 
GIFT  OF 

Louise  Farrow  Barr 


A    ROUND    DOZEN. 


TOINETTE    AND   THE    ELVES. 

Down  on  the  ground  beside  her,  a  tiny  figure  became  visible,  so  small  that  Toinette 
had  to  kneel  and  stoop  her  head  to  see  it.  —  PAGE  234. 


nc£y  L.         eX      fsfci 


A    ROUND    DOZEN. 


BY 


SUSAN    COOLIDGE, 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE  NEW  YEAR'S  BARGAIN,"  "WHAT  KATY  DID,"  "WHAT  KATY 
DID  AT  SCHOOL,"  "MISCHIEF'S  THANKSGIVING,"  "NINE  LITTLB 
GOSLINGS,"  "EYEBRIGHT,"  "CROSS-PATCH," 
"A  GUERNSEY  LILY." 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1892. 


Copyright,  1883, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


Education 

GIFT 


PRESS: 
JOHH  WILSOH  AM>  SON,  CAMBEIDOI. 


TO 


v    v    v    v    v 

little  buds  grouped  round  the  parent  stem, 
Growing  in  sweet  airs,  beneath  gracious  skies, 
Watched  tenderly  from  sunrise  to  sunrise, 
Lest  blight,  or  chill,  or  evil  menace  them. 

Five  small  and  folded  buds,  just  here  and  there 
Giving  a  hint  of  what  the  bloom  may  be, 
When  to  reward  the  long  close  ministry 
The  buds  shall  blossom  into  roses  fair. 

Soft  dews  fall  on  you,  dears,  soft  breezes  blow, 
The  noons  be  tempered  and  the  snows  be  kind, 
And  gentle  angels  watch  each  stormy  wind, 
And  turn  it  from  the  garden  where  you  grow. 


284 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  LITTLE  WHITE  DOOR 9 

LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY 34 

HELEN'S  THANKSGIVING 47 

AT  FIESOLE 67 

QUEEN  BLOSSOM 93 

A  SMALL  BEGINNING 115 

THE  SECRET  DOOR 135 

THE  Two  WISHES 156 

BLUE  AND  PINK 183 

A  FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE 198 

TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 232 

JEAN'S  MONEY,  AND  WHAT  IT  BOUGHT    .     .    .    .  259 

How  THE  STORKS  CAME  AND  WENT 277 


THE    LITTLE    WHITE    DOOR. 


SUPPOSE  that  most  boys  and  girls 
who  go  to  school  and  study  geogra- 
phy know,  by  sight  at  least,  the  little 
patch  of  pale  pink  which  is  marked  on  the  map 
as  "Switzerland."  I  suppose,  too,  that  if  I  asked, 
"What  can  you  tell  me  about  Switzerland?  "  a 
great  many  of  them  would  cry  out,  "  It  is  a 
mountainous  country,  the  Alps  are  there,  Mont 
Blanc  is  there,  the  highest  land  in  Europe." 
All  this  is  true ;  but  I  wonder  if  all  of  those 
who  know  even  so  much  have  any  idea  what 
a  beautiful  country  Switzerland  is  ?  Not  only 
are  the  mountains  very  high  and  very  grand, 
but  the  valleys  which  lie  between  are  as  green 
as  emerald,  and  full  of  all  sorts  of  wild  flowers ; 


10  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

there  are  lakes  of  the  loveliest  blue,  rivers 
which  foam  and  dash  as  merrily  as  rivers  do 
in  America,  and  the  prettiest  farmhouses  in 
the  world,  —  chalets  the  Swiss  call  them,  —  with 
steep  roofs  and  hanging  balconies,  and  mottoes 
and  quaint  ornaments  carved  all  over  their 
fronts.  And  the  most  peculiar  and  marvellous 
thing  of  all  is  the  strange  nearness  of  the 
grass  and  herbage  to  the  snows.  High,  high 
up  in  the  foldings  of  the  great  mountains  on 
whose  tops  winter  sits  all  the  year  long,  are 
lovely  little  valleys  hidden  away,  where  goats 
and  sheep  feed  by  the  side  of  glacier-fed 
streams ;  and  the  air  is  full  of  the  tinkle  of 
their  bells,  and  of  the  sweet  smells  of  the 
mountain  flowers.  The  water  of  these  streams 
has  an  odd  color  which  no  other  waters  have,  — 
a  sort  of  milky  blue-green,  like  an  opal.  Even 
on  the  hottest  days  a  chilly  air  plays  over  their 
surface,  the  breath,  as  it  were,  of  the  great  ice- 
fields above,  from  whose  melting  snows  the 
streams  are  fed.  And  the  higher  you  climb, 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR,  \\ 

still  greener  grow  the  pastures  and  thicker 
the  blossoms,  while  the  milk  in  the  chalet  pans 
seems  half  cream,  it  is  so  rich.  Delicious  milk 
it  is,  ice  cold,  and  fragrant  as  if  the  animals 
which  produce  it  had  fed  on  flowers.  Oh, 
Switzerland  is  a  wonderful  land  indeed ! 

One  day  as  I  sat  in  a  thicket  of  Alp  roses 
in  one  of  those  lovely,  lonely  upper  valleys,  I 
happened  to  raise  my  eyes,  and  noticed,  high 
in  the  cliff  above,  a  tall  narrow  rock  as  white 
as  snow,  which  looked  exactly  like  a  door  set 
in  the  face  of  the  gray  precipice.  An  old 
shepherd  came  by,  and  I  asked  him  about  it. 
He  said  it  was  called  "The  Door,"  and  that  the 
valley  was  called  "The  Valley  of  the  Door" 
by  some  folks  because  of  it,  but  that  its  real 
name  was  "  Das  Fritzeihal"  or  "Fritz's  Val- 
ley," on  account  of  a  boy  called  Fritz  who 
once  lived  there.  I  wanted  to  know  about  the 
boy,  and  as  the  old  man  had  a  little  time  to 
spare,  he  sat  down  beside  me  and  told  this 
story,  which  I  will  now  tell  you. 


12  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

"  It  was  many,  many  years  ago,"  the  shep- 
herd said,  "  so  many  that  no  man  now  remem- 
bers exactly  when  it  happened.  Fritz's  mother 
was  a  widow,  and  he  was  her  only  child. 
They  were  poor  people,  and  had  to  work  hard 
for  a  living.  Fritz  was  a  steady,  faithful  lad, 
and  did  his  best.  All  day  long  he  dug  and 
toiled,  and  herded  and  milked  and  fed  his  goats ; 
in  the  winter  he  carved  wooden  bowls  for  sale  in 
the  lower  valley ;  but,  work  as  he  would,  it  was 
not  always  easy  to  keep  the  meal-bin  full. 
What  made  it  harder,  were  the  strange  storms 
which  every  few  months  swept  the  valley  and 
damaged  the  crops.  Out  of  the  blue  sky,  as  it 
were,  these  storms  would  suddenly  drop.  The 
sun  would  be  shining  one  moment;  the  next, 
great  torrents  of  rain  would  begin  to  fall  and 
fierce  winds  to  blow,  flooding  the  crops  and 
carrying  drifts  of  sand  and  gravel  across  the 
fields.  Then,  at  other  times,  no  rain  would 
fall  for  months  together,  and  every  green  thing 
would  be  burned  and  dried  up,  while  perhaps 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR.  13 

at  the  very  same  time  the  lower  valleys  had 
plenty  of  rain.  This  happened  so  often  that 
people  gave  the  Thai  the  name  of  "The 
Unlucky  Valley,"  and  it  was  accounted  a  sad 
thing  to  have  to  get  a  living  there.  The  cli- 
mate is  very  different  now — praised  be  God. 

"  You  can  see,  madame,  that  Fritz's  lot  was 
not  strewn  with  roses.  Still  he  was  a  brave 
lad,  and  did  not  lose  heart.  He  had  no  play- 
fellows, but  sometimes  in  the  long  summer  days 
when  he  sat  to  watch  the  herd,  he  would  tell 
himself  stories  by  way  of  amusement,  and 
almost  always  these  stories  were  about  the 
White  Door  up  there,  which  was  as  much  a 
marvel  then  as  now.  At  last,  by  dint  of  look- 
ing and  dreaming,  it  grew  to  be  so  like  a  real 
door  to  him,  that  he  resolved  one  day  to  climb 
up  and  see  it  closer." 

"  Up  there  !"  I  cried  with  horror. 

"Yes,  madame.  It  was  very  rash.  Any 
ordinary  boy  would  have  been  dashed  to 
pieces,  but  Fritz  was  wiry,  strong,  and  active 


14  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

as  a  mountain  goat.  There  are  no  such  boys 
left  nowadays.  One  night,  while  his  mother 
slept,  he  stole  %away,  climbed  as  high  as  he 
dared  by  moonlight,  took  a  wink  of  sleep  under 
a  shelving  rock,  and  with  the  first  dawn  began 
to  make  his  way  upward,  testing  every  foot- 
hold, and  moving  cautiously;  for  though  he 
loved  adventure,  Fritz  was  by  no  means  a  fool- 
hardy boy,  and  had  no  mind  to  lose  his  life 
if  wit  and  care  could  keep  it  safe.  But  the 
climb  was  a  terrible  one.  He  had  been  on 
precipices  before,  but  never  on  such  as  this. 
Only  God's  goodness  saved  him  again  and 
again.  A  hundred  times  he  wished  himself 
Lack,  but  to  return  was  worse  than  to  go  on. 
So  up  and  up  he  went,  and  at  last,  scaling  that 
sheer  brown  cliff  which  you  see  there,  and 
throwing  himself  breathless  on  a  narrow  ledge, 
he  found  himself  close  to  the  object  of  his 
desires.  There,  just  before  him,  was  the  Little 
White  Door. 

"  The  sight   restored  his   energies  at   once. 


Pretty  soon  he  grew  bold,  and  seizing  the  knocker  he  gave  a  loud  rap. 
PAGE  15. 


THE  LITTLE   WHITE  DOOR.  15 

It  was  a  real  door  —  that  he  saw  at  a  glance, 
for  there  was  a  latch  and  a  keyhole  and  a 
knocker  —  all  carved  of  white  stone,  and  on  the 
door  a  name  in  good  German  characters,  '  Die 
Walton.'  I  do  not  know  the  name  in  English." 

"  It  is  '  Clouds,'  "  I  told  him. 

"  Ah,  yes,  '  die  clouds.'  Fritz  could  hardly 
believe  his  eyes,  as  you  may  imagine. 

"  Pretty  soon  he  grew  bold,  and  seizing  the 
knocker  he  gave  a  loud  rap.  Nobody  answered 
at  first,  so  he  rapped  again,  louder  and  louder, 
until  the  sound  echoed  from  the  rocks  like 
thunder.  At  last  the  door  opened  very  sud- 
denly, and  some  one  drew  Fritz  in  and  shut  the 
door  again  quickly.  All  was  dark  inside,  but 
he  felt  a  cool  touch  on  his  wrist,  and  a  hand 
he  could  not  see  led  him  along  a  rocky  pas- 
sage into  the  heart  of  the  cliff. 

"  After  a  while  a  glimmering  light  appeared, 
and  the  passage  turned  suddenly  into  a  large 
hall,  which  was  full  of  people,  Fritz  thought 
at  first ;  but  then  he  saw  that  they  were  not 


16  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

people,  but  strange  rounded  shapes  in  white  or 
gray,  who  moved  and  bounded,  and  seemed  to 
be  playing  a  game  of  some  sort.  It  was  like  a 
game  of  bowls,  but  the  things  they  rolled  to 
and  fro  on  the  rocky  floor  were  not  balls,  but 
shapes  like  themselves,  only  smaller  and 
rounder,  and  of  all  beautiful  colors,  red  and 
purple  and  yellow.  The  creatures  liked  to 
roll,  it  would  seem,  for  they  skipped  and 
jumped  as  they  went  along,  and  laughed  with 
a  sort  of  crackling  laughter,  which  echoed  oddly 
back  from  the  roof  of  the  cave.  The  big 
shapes  laughed  too  in  great  booming  tones. 
Altogether  they  made  a  great  deal  of  noise. 
Still  the  damp  little  hand  clasped  Fritz's  wrist, 
and  looking  down  he  saw  that  his  guide  was 
no  other  than  one  of  those  same  small  shapes 
which  were  the  balls  of  the  game.  There  was 
something  so  familiar  in  the  pink-cheeked 
fleecy  outline,  that  in  his  surprise  Fritz  forgot 
to  be  afraid,  and  spoke  aloud,  crying,  '  Why ! 
It 's  a  cloud  I ' 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR.  17 

" '  To  be  sure.  What  did  you  suppose  me 
to  be,  and  why  did  you  come  to  the  clouds' 
house  if  you  did  n't  want  to  see  clouds  I ' 
replied  the  thing. 

"'  Did  n't  you  see  our  name  on  the  door? 
Or  perhaps  you  can't  read,  Stupid  ! '  demanded 
a  large  white  cloud,  leaving  the  group  of  play- 
ers and  coming  up  to  Fritz  and  his  companion. 

"  '  Yes,  I  can  read,  and  I  did  see  the  name,' 
stammered  Fritz  ;  '  still  I  did  n't  —  ' 

"  '  You  did  and  you  didn't ;  how  intelligent 
you  seem  to  be !  '  said  the  white  cloud,  with  a 
toss  and  curl ;  while  a  big  black  thunder-cloud, 
pitching  a  little  yellow  one  clear  across  the 
cave,  shouted  in  sullen  tones  which  echoed 
frightfully  from  the  rocks  overhead,  '  What 's 
that  boy  doing  here  spoiling  our  game? 
Cumulus,  it's  your  roll.  Turn  that  little 
beggar  out.  He  has  no  business  here,  inter- 
fering with  the  sports  of  his  betters  ! ' 

"  Fritz  trembled,  but  his  small  conductor 
faced  the  black  cloud  undauntedly. 


18  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

"  '  Hold  your  tongue  ! '  he  said.  l  This  boy 
is  my  visitor.  I  let  him  in,  and  you  're  not  to 
bully  him.  I  won't  permit  it.' 

" l  You,  indeed  ! '  blustered  the  thunder-cloud. 
1  Pray,  what  can  you  do  about  it,  Little  Pink  ? 
I  shall  say  what  I  like,  and  do  as  I  like.' 

"  l  No,  you  won't,'  cried  all  the  small  clouds 
together,  rearing  themselves  up  from  the,  floor. 
'  We  fair-weather  clouds  are  not  a  bit  afraid  of 
you,  as  you  know.  We  know  very  well  how 
to  drive  you  black  ones  away,  and  we  will  do 
it  now  if  you  are  not  civil.'  Their  voices 
though  bright  were  threatening,  and  one  little 
violet  bit  made  a  dash  straight  at  the  nose  of 
the  thunder-cloud,  who  shrank  into  a  corner, 
muttering  wrathfully. 

"<  Don't  be  at  all  afraid,'  said  Little  Pink 
to  Fritz,  in  a  patronizing  tone.  l  He  shan't  do 
you  any  harm.  That  sort  of  cloud  is  always 
afraid  to  face  us,  because  we  are  so  many,  you 
see,  and  can  serve  him  as  he  deserves.  Well, 
now,  and  what  brought  you  up  here,  pray  ? ' 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR.  19 

"'I  didn't  know  who  lived  here,  and  I 
wanted  so  much  to  see/  replied  Fritz,  shyly. 

"  '  You  did  n't  ?  Did  n't  you  know  that  this 
was  our  house  ? '  demanded  the  little  cloud, 
astonished. 

"  i  No,  indeed.  I  did  n't  even  know  that  you 
had  a  house.' 

"  '  What !  Not  know  that  ?  Pray,  where  did 
you  suppose  we  were  when  you  did  n't  see  us 
in  the  sky  ?  '  cried  Little  Pink.  '  A  house  !  Of 
course  we  have  a  house.  Everybody  has  one. 
You've  got  a  house  yourself,  haven't  you! 
Why,  we  Ve  lived  here  always,  all  we  clouds. 
Sometimes  we  have  great  family  meetings, 
when  we  get  together  and  indulge  in  all  sorts 
of  fun  and  frolic,  never  going  out  doors  for 
weeks  at  a  time.' 

1  Oh,  those  must  be  the  times  when  our 
fields  all  burn  up,  and  the  streams  run  dry, 
and  the  poor  cattle  low  with  thirst ! '  said  Fritz, 
suddenly  enlightened.  l  So  you  are  enjoying 
yourselves  up  here  all  the  time,  are  von  ?  I 


20  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

call  that  very  unkind,  and  — '  Suddenly  rec- 
ollecting where  he  was,  he  hung  his  head, 
abashed  at  his  own  daring. 

"  Little  Pink  hung  his  head  too,  with  a 
grieved  face. 

"  1 1  never  thought  of  that  before,'  he  said 
penitently.  '  It  was  pleasant  for  us,  and  the 
time  went  fast.  I  recollect  now  that  the  world 
has  looked  rather  queer  and  yellow  sometimes 
when  we  have  come  out  again  after  a  long 
absence,  but  it  grew  green  presently,  and  I  did 
not  suppose  any  one  minded  — ' 

"  All  this  while  a  strange  growling  sound 
had  been  going  on  in  a  room  opening  from  the 
hall,  across  whose  entrance  stout  bars  were 
fixed. 

"  '  What  is  that?'  asked  Fritz,  unable  longer 
to  restrain  his  curiosity. 

"'That?  That's  only  the  North  Wind/ 
replied  Little  Pink,  in  an  absent  tone.  '  We  Ve 
shut  him  up,  because  he  has  no  business  to  be 
abroad  in  the  summer ;  and  he  's  such  a  restless 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR.  21 

creature,  and  so  violent,  that  lie  will  break 
loose  if  lie  can,  and  do  all  manner  of  mischief. 
Last  year,  about  this  time,  he  got  out  and 
raised  a  great  storm,  and  made  a  fearful  mess 
of  it  down  below.' 

"  l  I  recollect.  That  was  the  storm  that 
killed  three  of  our  sheep,  and  ruined  the  barley 
crop/  exclaimed  Fritz.  *  Oh,  it  was  dreadful ! 
We  had  to  make  half  a  loaf  do  the  work  of  a 
whole  one  all  winter  long  in  consequence.  It 
was  hungry  times  in  the  valley,  I  can  tell  you. 
Oh,  the  evil  Wind  ! ' 

"'You  poor  fellow !' cried  the  little  cloud. 
i  Well,  he 's  safe  now,  as  you  see.  He  can't 
get  out  and  plague  you  this  year,  at  least. 
But  I  'm  so  sorry  you  went  hungry.  It  was  n't 

our  fault,  really  it  was  n't ;  still  I  should  like  to 
make  it  up  to  you  somehow,  if  I  could.'  He 
reflected  a  moment,  then  he  went  forward  and 
gave  a  call  which  collected  all  the  other  clouds 
around  him.  Fritz  watched  them  consulting 
together ;  at  last  they  moved  toward  him  in  a 
body. 


22  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

"'Now,  Boy/  said  Little  Pink,  who  seemed 
to  have  elected  himself  spokesman,  l  because 
you  're  a  good  boy  and  have  had  bad  luck,  and 
because  you  're  the  first  boy  who  ever  came  up 
here  and  rapped  on  our  door,  we're  going  to 
propose  a  bargain.  So  long  as  you  live  in  the 
valley  below  and  are  steady,  and  work  hard 
and  keep  a  kind  heart  in  your  bosom  for 
people  not  so  well  off  as  yourself,  so  long  we 
will  look  after  your  farm  and  befriend  it. 
Water  shall  fall  on  it  regularly,  flood  and  tem- 
pest shall  spare  it,  the  grass  shall  never  dry, 
nor  the  brook  fail,  nor  the  herds  lack  for  food. 
We  shall  watch  closely,  arid  so  long  as  you 
keep  your  word  we  will  keep  ours.  Do  you 
agree  ? ' 

"  '  What !  never  any  more  droughts,  never 
any  floods,'  cried  Fritz,  unable  to  believe  such 
good  news.  4  Oh,  how  happy  mother  will  be  ! 
Indeed,  indeed  I  will  do  my  best  —  pray  be- 
lieve that  I  will.' 

"  '  The  proof  of  the  pudding,'  began  Cumulus, 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR.  23 

but  Little  Pink  silenced  him  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand. 

"  '  Very  well,  you  do  your  best  and  we  will 
do  ours/  he  said  in  a  cheery  tone.  'Now 
about  getting  you  home.  Do  you  know  how 
late  it  is  ?  ^ 

11  i  No/  said  Fritz,  who  had  forgotten  all 
about  time. 

"  '  It  is  just  noon/ 

"'Really?  Oh,  how  frightened  the  mother 
will  be  ! '  cried  Fritz,  his  heart  sinking  as  he 
thought  of  the  terrible  cliffs  which  he  must 
descend. 

" '  He  never  can  go  home  as  he  came/  de- 
clared a  rainbow,  craning  its  long  curved  neck 
like  a  giraffe's  over  the  heads  of  the  others. 

"  '  I'll  tell  you,  let  us  all  carry  him  down  on 
our  shoulders/  suggested  Little  Pink. 

u  l  So  we  will/  shouted  the  clouds  in  a 
chorus ;  and  jostling  and  laughing  they  all 
crowded  into  the  narrow  passage,  bearing  Fritz 
in  their  midst.  As  the  door  swung  open,  in 


24  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

swept  fresh  visitors,  a  crowd  of  tiny  scurrying 
shapes,  and  some  one  behind,  whipping  them 
along  with  a  lash  of  many-colored  air. 

"  'Why,  where  are  you  all  going!'  demanded 
the  new-comer,  in  a  breezy  voice.  i  I  've  col- 
lected these  stray  lambs  from  hither  and  yon, 
and  now  I  'm  in  for  the  day.  What  takes  you 
out,  pray  I ' 

" '  We  '11  not  be  gone  a  minute.  We  're  only 
going  to  carry  this  boy  home,'  answered  the 
rest ;  while  Little  Pink  whispered  in  Fritz's  ear, 
i  That 's  the  West  Wind.  He 's  a  great  favorite 
with  us  all.' 

"  '  Hallo  !  A  boy  !  Why,  so  it  is,'  cried 
West  Wind.  He  pounced  on  Fritz  as  he  spoke, 
kissed  him,  ruffled  his  hair,  boxed  his  ears 
softly,  all  in  a  minute.  Then,  with  a  gay, 
whooping  laugh  he  vanished  into  the  passage, 
while  the  clouds,  raising  Fritz,  floated  down- 
ward like  a  flock  of  whiteAvinged  birds.  Little 
Pink  lay  under  his  cheek  like  a  pillow.  Softly 
as  thistle-down  touches  earth  they  landed  on 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR.  25 

the  valley  floor,  laid  Fritz  on  a  bed  of  soft 
grass,  and  rose  again,  leaving  him  there.  He 
looked  up  to  watch  them  rise,  bright  and  smil- 
ing. Little  Pink  waved  a  rosy  hand.  Higher 
and  higher  sailed  the  clouds,  then  they  vanished 
into  the  door,  and  the  door  was  shut." 

I  am  telling  the  story,  as  you  see,  rather  in 
my  own  words  than  in  those  of  the  old  shep- 
herd, but  you  won't  mind  that.  The  truth  is,  I 
cannot  remember  the  exact  language  he  used, 
but  so  long  as  I  keep  to  the  main  points  of  the 
history  it  does  n't  much  matter,  does  it  ? 

"  In  a  few  minutes  Fritz  recovered  his  wits 
and  made  haste  home,  for  he  feared  his  mother 
might  be  alarmed  at  his  long  absence.  She 
was  not,  however,  for  she  supposed  that  he  had 
risen  early,  as  he  sometimes  did,  and  taking  a 
piece  of  bread  in  his  hand,  had  followed  the 
goats  up  the  valley,  breakfasting  by  the  way. 
She  met  him,  full  of  wonder  at  a  strange  thing 
that  had  happened. 

"  '  Such  a  queer  mist   filled  the  valley  just 


26  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

now/  she  said,  '  I  could  not  see  the  sun  at  all. 
I  feared  a  storm  was  coming,  but  presently  it 
rolled  away  all  in  a  minute,  and  left  the  day 
as  fine  as  ever.  Did  you.  notice  it  ?  I  never 
saw  anything  like  it  before/ 

"  Fritz  let  his  mother  wonder,  and  held  his 
peace.  She  would  think  that  he  had  fallen 
asleep  and  dreamed  it  all,  he  was  sure ;  in  fact, 
after  a  little  he  himself  began  to  believe  that 
it  was  a  dream. 

"  But,  dream  or  no  dream,  the  strange  thing 
was  that  it  came  true  !  From  that  time  on,  the 
climate  of  the  Unlucky  Valley  seemed  to  change. 
Years  passed  by  without  a  single  drought  or 
inundation.  When  the  pastures  below  were 
parched  with  thirst,  rain  fell  on  Fritz's  fields, 
keeping  them  green  as  emerald.  All  his  crops 
succeeded;  his  goats  and  sheep  gave  double 
share  of  milk,  and  little  by  little  he  grew  rich. 

"  '  The  Lucky  Valley/  people  now  called  the 
once  unlucky  spot,  while  to  Fritz  they  gave 
the  name  of  '  The  Favored  of  the  Saints.7 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR.  27 

Year  after  year  his  gains  went  on  increasing-. 
Gradually  all  the  land  in  the  valley  became  his, 
except  one  tiny  strip,  there  at  the  upper  end, 
which  belonged  to  a  widow,  poor  as  Fritz's 
mother  once  had  been.  This  strip  Fritz  desired 
to  buy,  but  the  widow  refused  to  sell,  though 
he  offered  a  large  price.  She  had  come  there 
a  bride,  she  declared,  with  the  myrtle-crown 
on  her  head,  and  there  she  wished  to  die  and 
be  buried  when  her  time  should  come.  The 
memory  of  his  own  poor  mother,  who  had 
died  some  time  before,  should  have  made  Fritz 
pitiful  to  this  lonely  woman,  but  his  heart  had 
grown  hard  with  continued  prosperity,  and  it 
angered  him  to  be  opposed.  So  when  after 
many  attempts  she  persisted  in  her  resolution, 
he  tried  harsher  means.  The  widow  had  debts. 
These  he  bought  up,  and  when  she  could  not 
pay  he  brought  the  pressure  of  the  law  to  bear, 
and  turned  her  from  her  home. 

"The  very  night  after  he  had  watched  her 
depart,  weeping  and  broken-hearted,  as  he  lay 


28  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

on  his  bed,  feeling  at  last  that  the  valley  was 
all  his  own,  the  Little  White  Door  opened  on 
the  cliffs  far  above,  and  out  came  the  clouds. 

"  Not  pink  and  purple  now,  smiling  and  full 
of  good  will,  but  black  and  wrathful.  Like  a 
flock  of  dark  vultures  they  swooped  at  the 
sleeping  valley.  Floods  of  rain  fell,  fierce 
winds  tore  and  raved,  the  river  rose  and  burst 
its  bounds,  carrying  all  before  it ;  and  Fritz, 
awakened  by  the  fearful  roar,  had  just  time  to 
escape  from  his  bed  and  gain  the  nearer  hill- 
side, when  the  waters  struck  the  chalet  and  bore 
it  away  in  ruins  down  the  valley,  as  though  it 
were  no  more  than  a  bubble  of  foam.  The 
crops  were  swept  off,  the  flocks  drowned  in  the 
fields.  Fritz  clung  to  a  tree-trunk  through  that 
fearful  night,  listening  to  the  hiss  and  rush  of 
the  flood,  and  the  bleatings  of  the  drowning 
sheep ;  arid  ever  and  anon  it  seemed  as  if 
shapes,  dimly  seen  through  the  darkness, 
swooped  at  and  buffeted  him,  while  voices 
cried  in  his  ear,  i  Promise-breaker !  Widow- 


THE  LITTLE   WHITE  DOOR.  29 

spoiler  !  Is  this  the  way  you  keep  faith  with 
the  clouds  V 

"  When  morning  dawned  it  revealed  a  scene 
of  ruin.  Not  a  blade  of  barley  remained  in 
the  meadows,  not  a  blade  of  grass  in  the  fields. 
The  labor  of  years  had  vanished  in  a  single 
night." 

"  It  served  him  right,"  said  I. 

"Ah,  my  lady,"  replied  the  old  shepherd, 
"  God  is  more  merciful  to  sinners  than  we  men 
can  be.  Fritz  was  not  wicked  at  heart.  He 
saw  his  fault  now  in  the  light  of  his  misfortune, 
and  was  sorry  for  it.  Gladly  would  he  have 
made  amends,  but  he  was  now  poor  as  the 
poorest,  for  the  waters  lay  over  the  earth,  and 
did  not  run  off  as  waters  generally  do.  The 
fertile  valley  was  become  a  lake,  into  which 
points  of  land,  fringed  with  broken  and  battered 
trees,  pushed  themselves.  It  was  a  sad  sight. 

"  News  of  the  disaster  reached  the  lower 
valleys,  and  the  kindly  peasants  flocked  to 
help.  But  what  could  they  do  till  the  water 


30  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

receded  ?  Nothing.  They  could  only  say  com- 
forting words  and  return  to  their  homes,  leaving 
Fritz  to  his  fate. 

"  He  waited  many  days,  then  he  formed  a 
bold  resolution.  He  determined  to  climb  the 
cliff  once  more,  knock  at  the  Little  White  Door, 
and  plead  with  the  clouds  for  forgiveness." 

"  That  was  bold  indeed,"  I  said. 

"  It  was  a  much  harder  task  than  it  had  been 
years  before,  when  he  was  a  boy  and  his  joints 
were  supple,"  continued  the  old  shepherd. 
"  Only  desperation  carried  him  upward,  but  at 
last  he  did  reach  the  door.  He  knocked  many 
times  without  answer,  and  when  at  length  the 
door  opened,  it  was  not  a  merry  little  cloud 
which  appeared,  but  a  tall,  gloomy  white  one, 
which  looked  like  a  sheeted  ghost.  No  game 
was  going  on  in  the  great  hall.  The  clouds, 
dressed  in  black,  each  with  his  thunder-cap  on, 
sat  side  by  side,  and  frowned  on  Fritz  as  he 
stood  in  the  midst  and  made  his  plea. 

"  '  I  have  sinned/  he  said  sadly,  as  he  ended, 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR.  31 

'  I  have  sinned  grievously,  and  I  am  justly 
punished.  I  forgot  my  promise  to  you,  meine 
Herren,  and  I  cannot  complain  that  you  broke 
yours  to  me.  But  give  me  one  more  chance,  I 
implore  you.  Let  me  atone  for  my  fault,  and 
if  I  fail  again,  punish  me  as  you  will.' 

"It  seemed  to  him  that  the  clouds  grew  a 
little  less  gloomy  as  he  spoke,  and  their  voices 
were  gentle  as  they  replied,  '  Very  well,  we 
will  consider  of  it.  Now  go.'  There  was  no 
offer  to  carry  him  this  time.  Exhausted  and 
weary  he  groped  his  way  down  at  peril  to  life 
and  limb,  and  more  dead  than  alive  crept  into 
the  miserable  shed  which  had  replaced  his 
home,  with  no  assured  hope  as  to  what  the 
clouds  might  elect  to  do. 

"  But  lo,  in  the  morning  the  waters  had 
begun  to  fall.  He  hardly  dared  believe  his 
eyes,  but  day  by  day  they  slowly  grew  less. 
By  the  end  of  a  fortnight  the  ground  was  left 
bare.  Such  land  !  Rough,  seamed,  gullied  by 
the  flood,  covered  with  slime  from  the  mountain 


32  THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR. 

side  and  with  rocks  and  gravel, — it  seemed  a 
hopeless  task  to  reclaim  it  again  into  pasture. 

"  But  Fritz  was  a  strong  man  and  his  will 
was  good.  Little  by  little  the  rocks  were 
removed,  the  fields  resown,  and  the  valley 
restored  to  its  old  fruitfulness.  The  soil  seemed 
richer  than  ever  before,  as  if  the  mud  and  slime 
which  had  lain  so  long  on  the  surface  were 
possessed  of  some  fertilizing  quality.  Another 
chalet  in  time  arose,  in  place  of  the  old  one. 
By  the  end  of  fifteen  years  Fritz  again  was  a 
rich  man,  richer  than  before.  But  his  hard 
heart  had  been  drowned  in  the  flood,  and  the 
new  heart  which  he  brought  back  from  the 
Little  White  Door  was  soft  and  kind.  As  soon 
as  he  could,  he  sought  out  the  poor  widow 
and  restored  to  her  all  she  had  lost,  land  and 
home  and  goats.  Later  on  he  wedded  her  niece, 
a  good  and  honest  maiden,  and  they  took  the 
widow  to  live  under  their  own  roof,  and  were 
to  her  as  a  son  and  daughter.  So  the  last 
years  of  Fritz  were  his  best  years,  and  his 


THE  LITTLE    WHITE  DOOR,  33 

name,  'The  Favored  of  the  Saints/  stuck  to 
him  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  And  it  is  from  him 
that  this  valley  is  named  Das  Fritzethal,  my 
lady." 

"  And  is  the  story  really  a  true  one  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  Ah,  who  knows  ?  "  said  the  old  shepherd, 
shaking  his  head  wisely.  "  The  world  has  so 
many  liars  in  it  that  no  one  can  be  sure." 
Then  he  took  off  his  odd  pointed  hat,  made  a 
bow,  called  to  his  goats,  and  went  his  way 
down  the  valley,  followed  by  the  herd  with 
their  many-keyed  tinkling  bells. 

I  looked  up.  The  Little  White  Door  shone 
out  of  the  face  of  the  cliff  all  rosy  pink  with 
sunset.  It  was  time  for  me  to  go  also. 

"At  least,"  I  thought,  "  if  the  story  is  not 
all  true,  if  it  has  changed  and  grown  a  little 
during  the  course  of  the  years,  —  at  least  it  is 
a  good  story,  and  I  am  glad  I  heard  it." 


LITTLE   KAREN   AND   HER   BABY. 


[HE  cottage  in  which  little  Karen  lived 
stood  high  up  on  the  hillside,  close 
to  the  edge  of  a  great  forest.  It  was 
a  strange,  lonely  place  for  a  young  wife,  almost 
a  girl,  to  be  so  happy  in ;  but  Karen  was  not 
afraid  of  the  forest,  and  never  thought  her  home 
lonely,  not  even  when  the  strong  winds  blew  in 
winter-time,  and  brought  the  far-off  baying  of 
wolves  from  the  mountains  beyond.  Her  hus- 
band, her  boy,  her  housewifely  cares,  her  spin- 
ning-wheel, and  her  needle  kept  her  busy  all 
day  long,  and  she  was  as  cheerful  as  busy.  The 
cottage  was  not  large,  but  it  was  strongly  built 
of  heavy  beams  and  stones.  Its  low  walls 
seemed  to  hug  and  clasp  the  ground,  as  if  for 


LITTLE  KAREN  .AND  HER  BABY.  \\~) 

protection  in  time  of  storm.  The  casement 
windows,  with  their  very  small  panes  of  thick 
glass,  let  in  little  sun,  but  all  summer  long  they 
stood  open,  and  in  winter,  what  with  the 
crackling  fire,  the  hum  of  the  wheel,  and 
Karen's  bright  face,  the  living-room  never 
looked  dark,  and,  for  all  its  plainness,  had  an 
air  of  quaint  comfort  about  it.  Fritz,  Karen's 
husband,  who  was  skilful  with  tools,  had 
ornamented  the  high-backed  chair,  the  press 
for  clothes,  and  the  baby's  oaken  cradle,  with 
beautiful  carving,  of  which  little  Karen  was 
exceedingly  proud.  She  loved  her  cottage, 
she  loved  the  great  wood  close  by  ;  her  lonely 
life  was  delightful  to  her,  and  she  had  not  the 
least  wish  to  exchange  it  for  the  toy-like 
village  in  the  valley  below. 

But  Karen  was  unlike  other  people,  the 
neighbors  said,  and  the  old  gossips  were  wont 
to  shake  their  heads,  and  mutter  that  there 
was  a  reason  for  this  unlikeness,  and  that  all 
good  Christians  ought  to  pity  and  pray  for  the 
poor  child. 


36  LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY. 

Long,  long  ago,  said  these  gossips,  —  so  long 
that  nobody  now  could  remember  exactly  when 
it  was,  —  Karen's  great-great-great-grandfather, 
(or  perhaps  his  grandfather — who  could  tell  ?) 
when  hunting  in  the  high  mountains,  met  a 
beautiful,  tiny  maiden,  so  small  and  light  that 
a  man  could  easily  carry  her  in  the  palm  of 
one  hand.  This  maiden  he  fell  in  love  with, 
and  he  won  her  to  be  his  wife.  She  made  a 
good  wife  ;  kept  the  house  as  bright  as  new 
tin ;  and  on  her  wheel  spun  linen  thread  so  fine 
that  mortal  eye  could  hardly  see  it.  But  a 
year  and  a  day  from  the  time  of  her  marriage 
she  went  out  to  walk  in  the  wood,  and  never 
came  back  any  more  !  The  reason  of  this  was, 
that  she  was  a  gnomide,  —  daughter  of  one  of 
the  forest  gnomes,  —  and  when  her  own  people 
encountered  her  thus  alone,  they  detained  her, 
and  would  not  suffer  her  to  return  to  her  hus- 
band. The  baby  she  left  in  the  cradle  grew  to 
be  a  woman,  —  bigger  than  her  gnome  mother, 
it  is  true,  but  still  very  small ;  and  all  the 


LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY.  37 

women  of  the  race  have  been  small  since  that 
time.  Witness  little  Karen  herself,  whose  head 
only  came  up  to  the  shoulder  of  her  tall  Fritz. 
Then  her  passion  for  woods  and  solitary 
places,  her  beautiful  swift  spinning,  her  hair, 
of  that  peculiar  pale  white-brown  shade,  —  all 
these  were  proofs  of  the  drops  of  unearthly 
blood  which  ran  in  her  veins.  Gnomes  always 
had  white  hair.  This  was  because  they  lived 
in  holes  and  dark  places.  Even  a  potato 
would  throw  out  white  leaves  if  kept  in  a 
cellar,  —  everybody  knew  that,  —  and  the 
gossips,  ending  thus,  would  shake  their  heads 
again,  and  look  very  wise. 

Karen  had  heard  these  stories,  and  laughed 
at  them.  No  fairy  or  gnome  had  ever  met  her 
eyes  in  the  woods  she  loved  so  well;  and  as  for 
hair,  Rosel  Pilaffs,  and  Gretchen  Erl's  too,  was 
almost  as  pale  as  hers.  Fair  hair  is  common 
enough  in  the  German  mountains.  Her  little 
boy  —  bless  him  !  —  had  downy  rings  which 
promised  to  become  auburn  in  time,  the  color 


38  LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY. 

of  his  father's  beard.  She  did  not  believe  in 
the  gnome  story  a  bit. 

But  there  came  a  time  when  she  almost 
wished  to  believe  it,  for  the  gnomes  are  said  to 
be  wise  folk,  and  little  Fritz  fell  ill  of  a  strange 
disease,  which  neither  motherly  wisdom  nor 
motherly  nursing  was  able  to  reach.  Each  day 
left  him  thinner  and  weaker,  till  he  seemed  no 
more  than  half  his  former  size.  His  very  face 
looked  strange  as  it  lay  on  the  cradle-pillow, 
and  Karen  was  at  her  wits'  end  to  know  what 
to  do. 

"  I  will  go  to  the  village  and  ask  Mother 
Klaus  to  come  and  see  the  child,"  said  Fritz. 
"  She  may  know  of  a  remedy." 

"  It  will  be  of  no  use,"  declared  Karen, 
sadly.  "  She  went  to  the  Berards'  and  the 
baby  died,  and  to  Heinrich's  and  little  Marie 
died.  But  go,  go,  Fritz !  —  only  come  back 
soon,  lest  our  angel  take  flight  while  you  are 
away ! " 

She  almost  pushed  him  from  the  door,  in  her 
impatience  to  have  him  return. 


LITTLE  KAREN  AND   HER  BABY.  31) 

A  while  after,  when  the  baby  had  wailed 
himself  to  sleep,  she  went  again  to  the  door  to 
look  down  the  path  into  the  valley.  It  was 
too  soon  to  hope  for  Fritz,  but  the  movement 
seemed  a  relief  to  her  restlessness.  It  was 
dusk,  not  dark,  —  a  sweet,  mild  dusk,  with 
light  enough  left  to  show  the  tree-branches  as 
they  met  and  waved  against  the  dim  yellow 
sky.  Deep  shadows  lay  on  the  moss-beds  and 
autumn  flowers  which  grew  beneath  ;  only  a 
faint  perfume  here  and  there  told  of  their  pres- 
ence, and  the  night  was  very  near. 

Too  unhappy  to  mind  the  duskiness,  Karen 
wandered  a  little  way  up  the  wood-path,  and 
sat  down  on  the  root  of  an  old  oak,  so  old  that 
the  rangers  had  given  it  the  name  of  "  Herr 
Grandfather."  It  was  only  to  clear  her  brim- 
ming eyes  that  she  sat  down.  She  wiped 
them  with  her  kerchief,  and,  with  one  low  sob, 
was  about  to  rise,  when  she  became  aware  that 
somebody  was  standing  at  her  side. 

This  somebody  was  a  tiny  old  woman,  with 


40  LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER    BABY. 

a  pale,  shadowy,  but  sweet  face,  framed  in 
flossy  white  hair.  She  wore  a  dark,  foreign- 
looking  robe ;  a  pointed  hood,  edged  with  fur, 
was  pulled  over  her  head  ;  and  the  hand  which 
she  held  out  as  she  spoke  was  as  white  as  the 
stalk  of  celery. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  child?"  she  asked, 
in  a  thin,  rustling  voice,  which  yet  sounded 
pleasantly,  because  it  was  kind. 

"  My  baby  is  so  ill,"  replied  Karen,  weeping. 

"  How  ill  ? "  inquired  the  old  woman,  anx- 
iously. "Is  it  cold  ?  Is  it  fever?  Do  its  eyes 
water?  My  baby  once  had  a  cold,  and  her 
eyes  —  "  She  stopped  abruptly. 

"His  eyes  do  not  water,"  said  Karen,  who 
felt  singularly  at  home  with  the  stranger.  a  But 
his  head  is  hot,  and  his  hands  ;  he  sleeps  ill, 
and  for  these  ten  days  has  hardly  eaten.  He 
grows  thinner  and  whiter  every  hour,  and  wails 
whenever  he  is  awake.  Oh,  what  am  I  doing  f 
I  must  go  back  to  him."  And,  as  she  spoke, 
she  jumped  from  her  seat. 


LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY.  41 

"  One  minute  !  "  entreated  the  little  old 
woman.  "  Has  lie  pain  anywhere  ?  " 

"He  cries  when  I  move  his  head,"  said 
Karen,  hurrying  on. 

The  stranger  went  too,  keeping  close  beside 
her  in  a  swift,  soundless  way. 

"  Take  courage,  Liebchen,  child  to  her  who 
was  child  of  my  child's  child,"  she  said.  "  Weep 
not,  my  darling.  I  will  send  you  help.  Out  of 
the  wisdom  of  the  earth  shall  come  aid  for  the 
little  dear  one." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Karen,  stopping 
short  in  her  surprise. 

But  the  old  woman  did  not  answer.  She  had 
vanished.  Had  the  wind  blown  her  away  ? 

"  How  could  I  wander  so  far?     How  could  I 
leave  my  baby  ?     Wicked  mother  that  I  am  !  " 
exclaimed  Karen,  in  sudden  terror,  as  she  ran 
into  the  cottage. 

But  nothing  seemed  disturbed,  and  no  one 
had  been  there.  The  baby  lay  quietly  in  his 
cradle,  and  the  room  was  quite  still,  save  for 


42  LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY. 

the  hiss  of  the  boiling  pot  and  the  fall  of  an 
ember  on  the  hearth.  Gradually  her  heart 
ceased  its  terrified  beating ;  a  sense  of  warmth 
and  calm  crept  over  her,  her  eyes  drooped,  and, 
seated  at  the  cradle-foot,  she  fell  asleep  in  her 
chair. 

Whether  it  was  an  hour  or  a  minute  that  she 
slept,  she  never  knew.  Slowly  and  dimly  her 
waking  senses  crept  back  to  her ;  but  though 
she  heard  and  saw  and  understood,  she  could 
neither  stir  nor  speak.  Two  forms  were  bend- 
ing over  the  cradle,  forms  of  little  men,  vener- 
able arid  shadowy,  with  hair  like  snow,  and 
blanched,  pale  hands,  like  her  visitor  of  the 
afternoon.  They  did  not  look  at  Karen,  but 
consulted  together  above  the  sleeping  child. 

"It  is  here,  brother,  and  here"  said  one,  lay- 
ing his  finger  gently  on  the  baby's  head  and 
heart. 

"Does  it  lie  too  deep  for  our  reaching?" 
asked  the  second,  anxiously. 

"  No.  The  little  herb  you  know  of  is  pow- 
erful." 


LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY.  43 

"  And  the  crystal  dust  yon  know  of  is  more 
powerful  still." 

Then  they  took  out  two  minute  caskets,  and 
Karen  saw  them  open  the  baby's  lips,  and  each 
drop  in  a  pinch  of  some  unknown  substance. 

"  He  is  of  ours,"  whispered  one,  "  more  of 
ours  than  any  of  them  have  been  since  the 
first." 

"He  has  the  gift  of  the  far  sight,"  said  the 
other,  lightly  touching  the  closed  eyes,  "  the 
divining  glance,  and  the  lucky  finger." 

"  I  read  in  him.  the  apprehension  of  metals," 
said  the  second  old  man,  "the  sense  of  hidden 
treasures,  the  desire  to  penetrate." 

"  We  will  teach  him  how  the  waters  run,  and 
what  the  birds  say  —  yes,  and  the  way  in  and 
the  way  out !  " 

"  Put  the  charm  round  his  neck,  brother." 

Then  Karen  saw  the  little  men  tie  a  bright 
object  round  the  baby's  neck.  She  longed  to 
move,  but  still  she  sat  mute  and  powerless, 
while  the  odd  figures  passed  round  the  cradle, 


44  LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY. 

slowly  at  first,  then  faster  and  faster,  crooning, 
as  they  went,  a  song  which  was  like  wind  in 
branches,  and  of  which  this  scrap  lodged  in  her 
memory :  — 

"  Eyes  to  pierce  the  darkness  through, 
Wit  to  grasp  the  hidden  clew, 
Heart  to  feel  and  hand  to  do,  — 
These  the  gnomes  have  given  to  you." 

So  the  song  and  the  circling  movement  went 
on,  faster  and  more  fast,  and  round  and  round, 
till  Karen's  head  swam  and  her  senses  seemed 
to  spin  in  a  whirling  dance ;  and  she  knew  no 
more  till  roused  by  the  opening  of  the  door, 
and  Fritz's  voice  exclaiming :  "  Come  in,  Dame 
Klaus  —  come  in  !  Karen  !  Where  are  you, 
wife  ?  Ah,  here  she  is,  fast  asleep,  and  the 
little  man  is  asleep  too." 

"  I  am  not  asleep,"  said  Karen,  finding  her 
voice  witli  an  effort.  Then,  to  her  husband's 
surprise,  she  began  to  weep  bitterly.  But,  for 
all  his  urgings,  she  would  not  tell  the  cause, 
for  she  was  afraid  of  Dame  Klaus's  tongue. 

The  dame  shook  her  head  over  the  sick  baby. 


LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY.  45 

He  was  very  bad,  she  said ;  still,  she  had  brought 
through  others  as  bad  as  he,  and  there  was  no 
telling.  She  asked  for  a  saucepan,  and  began 
to  brew  a  tea  of  herbs,  while  Karen,  drawing 
her  husband  aside,  told  her  wonderful  tale  in 
a  whisper. 

"  Thou  wert  dreaming,  Karen ;  it  is  nothing 
but  a  dream,"  declared  the  astounded  Fritz. 

"  No,  no,"  protested  Karen.  "  It  was  not  a 
dream.  Baby  will  be  well  again,  and  great 
things  are  to  happen  !  You  will  see  !  The 
little  men  know  !  " 

"  Little  men  !  Oh,  Karen  !  Karen  !  "  ex- 
claimed Fritz. 

But  he  said  no  more,  for  Karen,  bending 
over  the  cradle,  lifted  the  strange  silver  coin 
which  was  tied  round  the  baby's  neck,  and  held 
it  up  to  him  with  a  smile.  A  silver  piece  is 
not  a  drearn,  as  every  one  knows  ;  so  Fritz, 
though  incredulous,  held  his  tongue,  and  neither 
he  nor  Karen  said  a  word  of  the  matter  to 
Mother  Klaus. 


46  LITTLE  KAREN  AND  HER  BABY. 

Baby  was  better  next  day.  It  was  all  the 
herb-tea,  Mother  Klaus  declared,  and  she  gained 
great  credit  for  the  cure. 

This  happened  years  ago.  Little  Fritz  grew 
to  be  a  fine  man,  sound  and  hearty,  though 
never  as  tall  as  his  father.  He  was  a  lucky 
lad  too,  the  villagers  said,  for  his  early  taste 
for  minerals  caught  the  attention  of  a  rich 
gentleman,  who  sent  him  to  the  school  of 
mines,  where  he  got  great  learning.  Often 
when  the  mother  sat  alone  at  her  wheel,  a 
smile  came  to  her  lips,  and  she  hummed  low 
to  herself  the  song  of  the  little  old  men  :  — 

"  Eyes  to  pierce  the  darkness  through, 
Wit  to  grasp  the  hidden  clew, 
Heart  to  feel  and  hand  to  do,  — 
These  the  gnomes  have  given  to  you.*' 


HELEN'S  THANKSGIVING. 


AMMA,  would  you  mind  very  much 
if  I  should  learn  to  make  pies  ?  " 

This  request  sounds  harmless,  but 
Mrs.  Sands  quite  started  in  her  chair  as  she 
heard  it.  She  and  Helen  were  sitting  on  either 
side  of  a  wood-fire.  The  blinds  had  been 
pulled  down  to  exclude  the  chill  November 
darkness,  and  the  room  was  lit  only  by  the 
blazing  logs,  which  sent  out  quick,  bright 
flashes  followed  by  sudden  soft  shadows,  in 
that  unexpected  way  which  is  one  of  the 
charms  of  wood-fires.  It  was  a  pretty  room,  in 
a  pretty  house,  in  one  of  the  up-town  streets  of 
New  York,  and  the  mother  and  daughter  looked 
very  comfortable  as  they  sat  there  together. 
"  Pies,  my  dear  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


48  HELEN'S   THANKSGIVING. 

"I'll  tell  you,  mamma.  You're  going  to 
Grandmamma  Ellis  for  Thanksgiving,  this  year, 
you  know,  and  papa  and  I  are  going  up  to 
Vermont,  to  Grandmother  Sands  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  don't  remember  grandmother 
much,  because  it  is  so  long  since  she  was  here, 
but  the  one  thing  I  do  recollect  is  how  troubled 
she  was  because  I  did  n't  know  anything  about 
housekeeping.  One  day  you  had  a  headache, 
and  wanted  some  tea  ;  and  you  rang  and  rang, 
and  Jane  was  ever  so  long  in  fetching  it,  and  at 
last  grandma  said,  '  Why  don't  you  run  down 
and  see  to  it,  Helen  f '  And  when  I  told  her 
that  I  was  n't  allowed  to  go  into  the  kitchen, 
and  beside  that  I  did  n't  know  how  to  make 
tea,  she  looked  so  distressed,  and  said,  i  Dear 
me,  dear  me  !  Poor  little  ignorant  girl !  What 
a  sad  bringing  up  for  you  in  a  country  like 
ours ! '  I  did  n't  understand  exactly  what  she 
meant,  but  I  have  never  forgotten  it,  and  do  you 
know,  mamma,  just  that  one  speech  of  grandma's 


HELENS  THANKSGIVING,  49 

has  made  me  want  to  do  ever  so  many  thing's. 
I  never  told  yon,  but  once  I  made  my  bed  for 
more  than  a  week,  —  till  Bridget  said  I  was 
i  worth  my  salt  as  a  chambermaid,'  and  I  used 
to  dust  the  nursery,  and  sweep.  And  the 
other  day  it  came  into  my  head  suddenly  how 
pleased  grandmother  would  be  if  I  carried  her 
a  pumpkin-pie  that  I  had  made  myself;  so  I 
asked  Morrison,  and  she  said  she  'd  teach  me, 
and  welcome,  if  you  didn't  mind.  Do  you 
mind,  mamma  ?  " 

"  You  know,  dear,  I  don't  like  to  have  you 
about  with  the  servants,  and  I  never  wanted 
you  to  become  a  drudge  at  home,  as  so  many 
American  girls  are.  Then  you  have  your 
lessons  to  attend  to  besides." 

"  Yes,  mamma,  I  know,  but  it  will  only  take 
one  morning,  and  I'll  not  begin  till  school 
closes,  if  you  'd  rather  not.  I  really  would  like 
to  so  much,  mamsie  ?  " 

Helen's  pet  name  for  her  mother  was  coax- 
ingly  spoken,  and  had  its  effect.  Mrs.  Sands 
yielded.  4 


50  HELENS 

"Very  well,  dear;  you  may,  if  you  like, 
only  I  wish  you  could  wear  gloves." 

"  O  mamma  !  nobody  makes  pies  in  gloves. 
But  I  need  n't  put  my  hands  in  at  all,  except 
for  rolling  the  paste,  Morrison  says  so." 

Mrs.  Sands  was  not  so  silly  a  woman  as  she 
sounds.  Born  and  bred  in  the  West  Indies, 
the  constant  talk  about  servants  and  house- 
keeping, that  met  her  ears  when  she  came  to 
New  York,  a  young  married  woman,  so  puz- 
zled and  annoyed  her  that  she  somewhat 
rashly  decided  that  her  child  should  never 
know  anything  about  such  matters.  Morrison, 
the  good  old  cook,  had  lived  with  her  since 
Helen  was  a  baby,  and  all  had  gone  so 
smoothly  that  there  had  never  seemed  occasion 
for  interference  from  anybody.  And  Helen 
would  have  grown  up  in  utter  ignorance  of  all 
practical  matters,  had  not  a  chance  remark  of 
her  thrifty  New  England  grandmother  piqued 
her  into  the  voluntary  wish  of  learning. 

It  was  with  a  good  deal  of  excitement,  and  a 


HELEN'S   THANKSGIVING.  51 

little  sense  of  victory  as  well,  that  Helen  went 
downstairs,  a  few  days  later,  to  take  the 
promised  lesson.  The  kitchen  looked  very 
cheerful  and  neat,  and  Morrison  was  all  ready 
with  her  spice-box,  eggs,  pie-dishes,  and  great 
yellow  bowl  full  of  strained  pumpkin  ;  like- 
wise a  big  calico  apron  to  tie  over  Helen's 
dress.  First  they  made  the  crust.  It  was 
such  good  fun  pinching  the  soft  bits  of  lard 
into  the  nice,  dry-feeling  flour,  that  Helen 
would  willingly  have  prolonged  the  operation, 
but  Morrison  objected.  Pastry  did  n't  like  to  be 
fingered,  she  said ;  and  she  made  Helen  wash 
her  hands,  and  then  mix  in  the  ice- water  with 
a  thin-bladed  knife,  cutting  and  chopping  till 
all  was  moistened  into  a  rough  sort  of  dough. 
Next,  she  produced  the  rolling-pin,  and  showed 
her  how  to  beat  the  dough  with  dexterous 
strokes,  up  and  down,  and  cross-ways,  till  it 
became  a  smooth  paste,  which  felt  as  soft  as 
velvet,  and  then  how  to  roll  it  into  a  smooth 
sheet,  lay  on  the  butter  in  thin  flakes,  fold  and 
roll  again. 


52  HELENS   THANKSGIVING. 

"Now  wrap  this  towel  all  round  it,  and  I'll 
set  it  into  the  ice-chest  till  we  want  it,"  she  said. 
"It'll  puff  the  minute  it  goes  into  the  oven, 
never  fear ;  I  can  always  tell.  You  like  it,  — 
don't  you,  —  Miss  Helen  dear  ?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  ever  so  much.  I  hope  the  pies 
will  be  good ;  grandmamma  will  be  so  pleased." 

"They'll  be  good,"  pronounced  Morrison, 
confidently.  "  Now  sift  in  plenty  of  sugar, 


miss." 


So  Helen  put  in  "plenty"  of  sugar,  and  then, 
as  directed,  grated  lemon-peel,  lemon-juice,  cin- 
namon, ginger,  nutmeg,  melted  butter,  a  pinch 
of  salt,  beaten  eggs,  a  dash  of  rose-water,  and 
then  a  little  more  sugar,  and  "just  the  least 
taste  of  cinnamon,"  till  Morrison  pronounced 
the  flavor  exactly  right,  and  Helen  declared 
that  for  all  she  could  see,  pumpkin-pies  were 
made  of  anything  in  the  world  except  pumpkins. 
Last  of  all  went  in  a  great  pour  of  hot  milk ; 
then  the  pie-dishes  were  lined,  filled,  and  set  in 
the  oven,  after  being  ornamented  with  all  man- 


HELENS   THANKSGIVING.  53 

ner  of  zigzags  and  curly-queues  of  paste  round 
their  edges ;  and  Helen  rushed  upstairs  to  tell 
her  mother  that  pie-making  was  "just  lovely," 
and  she  would  like  to  be  a  cook  always,  she 
thought.  By  Morrison's  advice  she  wrote  the 
whole  process  down  in  a  book  while  it  was 
fresh  in  her  mind,  and  she  was  glad  after- 
wards that  she  had  done  so,  as  you  will  see. 

That  same  afternoon  Mrs.  Sands  went  on  to 
Philadelphia,  and  next  morning  early  Helen 
and  her  father  started  for  their  journey  to  Ver- 
mont. It  was  gray,  blustering  weather,  but 
neither  of  them  cared  for  that.  Papa  was  in 
high  spirits,  and  full  of  fun  as  a  school-boy. 
Their  baggage  comprised,  besides  two  valises, 
a  big  hamper  full  of  all  sorts  of  nice  things 
for  grandmother,  game  and  fruit  and  groceries, 
and  Helen  carried  a  flat  basket  in  her  hand,  in 
which,  wrapped  in  a  snowy  napkin,  reposed  one 
of  the  precious  pies. 

"  Bless  me,  how  raw  it  is  !  It  looks  as  though 
it  were  going  to  snow,"  said  Mr.  Sands,  as  he 


54  HELEN'S   THANKSGIVING. 

came  in  from  a  walk  up  and  down  the  platform 
of  one  of  the  little  stations  at  which  the  train 
stopped ;  and  five  minutes  later  Helen,  with  a 
little  scream  of  surprise,  cried  out,  "Why, 
papa,  it  is  snowing  !  "  Sure  enough  it  was,  — 
in  fine  snow-flakes,  which  before  long  thickened 
into  a  heavy  fall. 

"  It  will  only  be  a  squall,"  Mr.  Sands  said  ; 
but  the  conductor  shook  his  head,  and  remarked 
that  up  there  so  near  the  mountains  there  was 
no  calculating  on  weather.  It  might  stop  in 
half  an  hour,  or  it  might  go  on  all  night :  no 
one  could  pretend  to  say  beforehand  which  it 
would  do. 

By  the  time  they  reached  Asham,  their  stop- 
ping-place, the  ground  was  solid  white.  The 
wind,  too,  had  risen,  and  was  drifting  the  snow 
in  all  directions.  The  tavern-keeper  at  Asliam, 
to  whom  Mr.  Sands  went  for  "a  team,"  advised 
them  to  stay  all  night,  but  this  both  Helen  and 
her  father  agreed  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  It 
was  only  ^canteen  miles.  Grandmamma  was 


HELEN'S   THANKSGIVING.  55 

expecting  them,  and  must  not  be  disappointed. 
So,  well  wrapped  in  carriage  blankets  and  buf- 
falo robes,  they  set  out  in  a  light  covered  rock- 
;nvay,  with  a  stout  horse,  their  baggage  packed 
in  behind  them. 

Fourteen  miles  may  seem  a  very  short  dis- 
tance or  a  very  long  one,  according  to  circum- 
stances. Before  they  had  gone  half-way  both 
of  them  began  to  think  it  an  extremely  long 
one.  The  road  lay  up  hill  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  way.  Night  was  coming  on  fast,  and 
every  moment  the  drift  grew  thicker  and  more 
confusing.  Mr.  Sands  in  his  secret  heart  re- 
pented that  he  had  not  taken  the  tavern-keeper's 
advice,  and  stayed  at  Asham.  At  last  the 
horse,  which  had  halted  several  times  and  been 
urged  on  again,  came  to  a  dead  stop.  Mr. 
Sands  touched  him  with  the  whip,  but  he  would 
not  stir.  He  jumped  up  to  see  what  was  the 
matter,  and  found  the  poor  animal  up  to  his 
chest  in  snow.  He  had  wandered  from  the 
road  a  little  and  plunged  into  a  drift.  Mr. 


56  HELENS   THANKSGIVING. 

Sands  tried  to  turn  him  toward  the  road,  when, 
lo,  a  loud  and  ominous  crack  was  heard,  and 
Helen  gave  a  scream.  One  of  the  shafts  had 
snapped  in  two. 

Matters  now  looked  serious.  Mr.  Sands  un- 
did the  harness  as  fast  as  possible,  for  he  feared 
the  horse  might  flounder  to  release  himself, 
and  upset  the  carriage.  Then  lie  climbed  into 
the  rockaway  again,  and  stood  up  to  see  if  he 
could  anywhere  see  the  light  of  a  house.  No  ; 
a  twinkling  beam  was  visible  farther  up  the 
hill,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  have  to  ask  you  to 
sit  here  quietly  for  ten  minutes  or  so,  while  I 
ride  on  to  a  house  which  I  see  up  there,  and 
get  some  one  to  help  us.  Will  you  be  afraid  to 
be  left  alone  ?  It 's  only  for  a  little  while." 

"  N-o ;  but  0  papa  !  must  you  go  ?  I  'm  so 
afraid  the  horse  will  kick,  or  you'll  tumble 
off." 

"  Never  fear,"  —  trying  to  laugh,  —  "I  really 
must  go,  dear ;  it 's  our  only  chance  of  getting 


HELEN'S  THANKSGIVING.  57 

out  of  this  scrape.     Promise  me  to  sit  perfectly 
still,  and  on  no  account  to  leave  the  carriage." 

It  seemed  much  longer  than  ten  minutes  be- 
fore papa  got  back,  but  there  he  was  at  last, 
with  another  man  carrying  a  lantern,  both  of 
them  white  with  snow  up  to  their  waists. 

"  All  right,  Helen,"  he  cried  cheerily.  "  Wrap 
all  the  blankets  round  your  shoulders ;  I  'm 
going  to  set  you  on  the  horse,  and  Mr.  Simmons 
and  I  —  this  is  Mr.  Simmons,  my  dear  —  will 
walk  on  either  side  and  hold  you  on ;  we  '11 
have  you  up  the  hill  in  a  trice." 

Helen  did  not  like  it  at  all.  The  horse  felt 
dreadfully  alive  under  her,  and  jerked  so,  as  he 
plunged  up  hill  through  the  snow,  that  she  was 
constantly  afraid  of  tumbling  off.  It  did  not 
last  long,  however.  In  five  minutes  her  father 
had  lifted  and  carried  her  in,  and  set  her  down 
in  a  kitchen,  where  a  woman  with  a  candle  in 
her  hand  stood  waiting  for  them. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Simmons,"  he  said.  "She  is  so 
kind  as  to  say  that  she  will  keep  us  till  to-mor- 


58  HELEN'S    THANKSGIVING, 

row  morning,  when  perhaps  the  snow  will  have 
stopped,  and,  at  all  events,  we  shall  have  day- 
light to  find  our  way  with.  Mr.  Simmons  and 
I  are  going  back  now  to  fetch  up  the  luggage. 
The  rockaway  will  have  to  take  care  of  itself 
till  to-morrow,  I  fancy." 

Left  alone,  Helen  looked  curiously  about  her. 
The  kitchen  was  a  bare-looking  place  to  her  eyes. 
There  was  a  stove  with  a  fire  in  it,  a  rocking- 
chair  covered  with  faded  "  patch,"  some  wooden 
chairs,  a  table,  and  a  sort  of  dresser  with  dishes. 
A  large  wheel  for  spinning  wool  stood  in  one  of 
the  windows.  Everything  was  clean,  but  there 
was  an  air  of  poverty,  and  to  Helen  it  seemed 
a  most  dismal  place.  She  could  not  imagine 
how  people  could  live  and  be  happy  there. 

Mrs.  Simmons  herself  looked  very  ill  and 
tired. 

"  I  enjoy  such  poor  health,"  she  explained  to 
Helen,  as  she  took  some  plates  and  bowls  down 
from  the  dresser.  "  I  got  the  ague  down  to 
Mill  Hollow,  where  we  lived,  and  we  moved  up 


HELENS   THANKSGIVING.  59 

here,  hoping  to  get  rid  of  it.  I  am  some  better, 
but  it  took  me  powerful  hard  yesterday,  and  I 
suppose  I  '11  have  it  bad  again  to-morrow.  Mr. 
Simmons,  he's  got  behindhand  somehow,  and 
it 's  hard  work  trying  to  catch  up  in  these  times. 
What  with  one  thing  and  another,  both  of  us 
have  felt  clean  discouraged  this  fall.  Glory, 
fetch  the  milk." 

"  Yes,  mother."  And  out  of  the  buttery 
came  a  girl  of  about  Helen's  age,  with  a  pan  in 
her  hands.  She  had  apparently  tumbled  out  of 
bed  to  help  in  the  entertainment  of  the  stran- 
gers, for  her  hair  was  flying  loose,  and  she 
looked  only  half  dressed ;  but  she  had  pretty 
brown  eyes  and  a  bright  smile. 

"I  feel  real  bad  to  think  I'm  out  of  tea," 
said  Mrs.  Simmons.  "  Father,  he  was  calculat- 
ing to  get  some  later  on,  when  he  'd  finished  a 
job  of  lumber-hauling.  And  the  hens  have 
'most  stopped  laying,  too  ;  I  hain't  but  four  eggs 
in  the  house." 

"  Oh,  don't  give  us  the  eggs  ! "  cried  Helen ; 


60  HELEN'S   THANKSGIVING, 

" you'll  want  them  yourself  for  Thanksgiving, 
I  'm  sure." 

"  Thanksgiving !  Dear  me,  so  it  is  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Simmons.  "  I  'd  forgot  all  about  that. 
Not  that  it  'd  have  made  much  difference,  any 
way.  You  can't  make  something  out  of  nothin', 
and  that 's  about  what  we  've  come  to." 

"I've  got  a  pie,"  cried  Helen,  with  a  sudden 
generous  impulse,  but  feeling  a  little  pang 
meanwhile,  as  she  recalled  her  vision  of  putting 
the  pie  into  grandmamma's  own  hands.  But 
where  was  the  pie?  She  recollected  now, — 
the  basket  was  in  her  lap  when  papa  lifted  her 
out  of  the  carriage.  It  must  have  fallen  out, 
and  probably  was  now  buried  deep  in  snow. 

A  great  stamping  of  boots  just  then  announced 
the  entrance  of  the  two  men  with  the  valises 
and  hamper.  Mrs.  Simmons  renewed  her  apol- 
ogies about  the  tea.  Hot  milk,  a  little  fried 
pork,  two  of  the  eggs,  and  a  loaf  of  saleratus 
bread  were  all  she  had  to  offer,  but  it  was  very 
welcome  to  the  hungry  travellers.  There  was 


HELENS   THANKSGIVING.  (jl 

some  choice  tea  in  grandmother's  hamper,  but 
Mr.  Sands  very  rightly  judged  it  better  to  say 
nothing  about  it  just  then,  as  it  might  have 
seemed  that  he  and  Helen  were  not  satisfied 
with  their  supper.  They  ate  heartily,  and 
soon  after  went  to  bed  in  two  chilly  little  lofts 
upstairs,  where  all  the  buffalo  robes  and  blank- 
ets from  the  carriage  could  not  quite  keep  them 
Warm. 

Helen  lay  awake  a  long  time,  thinking  of 
her  own  disappointment  and  grandmamma's, 
but  more  still  about  the  Simmons  family. 
How  hard  and  melancholy  their  life  seemed, 
struggling  with  poverty  and  ague  up  here 
among  the  lonely  hills,  with  no  doctor  near 
them,  and  no  neighbors  !  A  great  sympathy 
and  pity  awoke  in  her  heart.  Her  first  impulse, 
when  she  roused  next  morning,  was  to  hurry 
to  the  window.  It  wras  still  snowing,  and  the 
drifts  seemed  deeper  than  ever  !  "  Oh,  dear  !  " 
she  thought,  "  we  shall  have  to  stay  in  this  for- 
lorn place  another  day,  I  am  afraid."  A  more 


62  HELENS   THANKSGIVING. 

generous  thought  followed:  "  If  it  seems  so 
hard  to  me  to  have  to  spend  one  day  here, 
what  must  it  be  to  live  here  always  ?  "  And 
she  made  up  her  mind  that,  if  they  were  forced 
to  stay,  she  would  do  all  she  could  to  make 
Thanksgiving  a  little  less  forlorn  than  it 
seemed  likely  to  be  to  Mrs.  Simmons  and 
Glory. 

It  did  look  forlorn  downstairs  in  the  bare 
little  kitchen.  Mrs.  Simmon s's  chill  was  com- 
ing on.  She  was  up  and  dragging  herself 
about,  but  she  looked  quite  unfit  to  be  out  of 
bed.  Two  little  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl, 
whom  Helen  had  not  seen  the  night  before, 
clung  close  to  her  dress,  and  followed  wher- 
ever she  moved,  hiding  their  shy  faces  from  the 
strangers.  They  got  over  their  shyness  gradu- 
ally as  Helen  laughed,  and  coaxed  them,  and 
by  the  time  breakfast  was  over  had  grown 
good  friends. 

"  Now,"  said  Helen,  gayly,  after  a  last  glance 
at  the  window,  which  showed  the  snow-storm 


HELEN'S    Tl[AXXSC,I\'ING.  (\\\ 

still  raging,  "  I  am  going  to  propose  a  plan. 
You  shall  go  to  bed,  Mrs.  Simmons,  —  I  'm 
sure  you  ought  to  be  there  at  this  moment,  — 
and  Glory  and  I  will  wash  the  dishes,  and  we 
will  cook  the  Thanksgiving  dinner." 

"  Oh,  dear !  there  ain't  nothing  worth 
cooking,"  sighed  poor  Mrs.  Simmons,  but  she 
was  too  ill  to  make  objections.  So  Glory,  or 
Glorvina,  put  the  kitchen  to  rights  with  Helen's 
help,  and  then  the  two  girls  sat  down  to  con- 
sult over  dinner. 

"  Could  you  roast  a  turkey,  do  you  think  ?  " 
asked  Helen. 

"  There  ain't  no  turkey  to  be  roasted," 
objected  Glory. 

"  Yes,  but  could  you  if  there  were  ?  Because 
I  think  there's  one  in  the  hamper,  papa,  and  I 
know  grandmamma  would  let  us  have  it  if  she 
knew." 

"  Why,  of  course  she  would.  Use  every- 
thing in  the  hamper  if  you  like ;  grandma 
would  never  think  of  objecting,  and  there's 


64  HELEN'S   THANKSGIVING. 

plenty  more  to  be  had  where  those  came  from," 
said  her  father. 

So  the  hamper  was  unpacked,  and  the  turkey 
extracted,  and  a  package  of  tea  and  another 
of  lump  sugar,  and  a  tumbler  of  currant  jelly  ; 
and  Helen  filled  a  big  dish  with  oranges  and 
white  grapes,  and  the  preparations  went  merrily 
on.  There  proved  to  be  half  a  squash  in  the 
cellar,  and  Glory,  wading  out  in  the  snow, 
fetched  in  a  couple  more  eggs  from  the  barn, 
so  pies  were  possible.  Helen  produced  her 
recipe-book. 

"Now  I'm  going  to  show  you  just  how  to 
make  pies,"  she  said ;  "  I  only  learned  myself  day 
before  yesterday."  And  she  thought,  "  How 
lucky  it  is  that  I  did  learn,  for  now  I  can  show 
Glory,  and  she  '11  always  know.  But  would  n't 
Morrison  open  her  eyes  if  she  could  *see  me  ?  " 

The  spices  and  lemons  came  out  of  the 
hamper,  of  course,  and  the  crust  had  to  be 
made  of  salt  butter  and  no  lard ;  but  the  pies 
turned  out  very  good,  for  all  that,  and  no  one 


HELEN'S   THANKSGIVING.  65 

was  in  the  least  disposed  to  find  fault  with 
their  flavor.  Really,  the  little  dinner  was  a 
great  success.  Glory's  potatoes  were  a  little 
underdone,  but  that  was  the  only  failure.  The 
children  ate  as  though  they  could  never  be 
satisfied.  Mr.  Simmons  cheered  up  and  cracked 
one  or  two  feeble  jokes ;  and  even  Mrs. 
Simmons,  propped  high  in  bed  to  survey  the 
festive  scene,  called  out  that  it  "  looked  some- 
thing like,"  and  she  did  n't  know  when  there 
had  been  so  much  laughing  going  on  in  their 
house  before. 

The  clock  struck  three  just  as  the  last  nicely 
washed  plate  was  set  away  on  the  dresser. 
Helen  quite  jumped  at  the  sound.  How  short, 
after  all,  the  day  had  seemed  which  promised 
to  be  so  long  and  dismal !  And  just  then  a 
bright  yellow  ray  streamed  through  the  win- 
dow, and,  looking  out,  she  saw  blue  sky. 

"  Papa,"  she  screamed,  "it  has  cleared  up! 
I  do  believe  we  shall  get  to  grandmamma's 
to-ni.^ht,  after  all !  " 


GG  HELENS   THANKSGIVING. 

And  so  they  did.  Mr.  Sands,  with  Mr.  Sim- 
mons's  assistance,  fitted  the  rockaway  on  to 
a  pair  of  old  sledge-runners,  and,  with  many 
warm  good-byes  from  the  whole  family,  they 
drove  off.  Just  at  sunset  they  reached  Morrow 
Hill,  and  grandma  was  so  glad  to  see  them, 
and  they  so  glad  to  get  there,  that  it  was  easy 
to  forget  all  their  disappointment  and  delay. 
In  fact,  after  a  little  while  Helen  convinced 
herself  that  the  whole  thing  was  rather  a  piece 
of  good  fortune  than  otherwise. 

11  For,  don't  you  see,  papa,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  we  had  all  Thanksgiving  evening  with  grand- 
mother, you  know,  and  she  had  it  with  us,  so 
we  only  lost  part  of  our  pleasant  time  f  But 
if  it  had  n't  been  for  the  snow  and  the  break- 
down, the  poor  Simmonses  would  n't  have  had 
any  Thanksgiving  at  all  —  not  a  bit ;  so  it 
really  was  a  great  deal  better,  don't  you  see 
that  it  was,  papa!" 


AT    FIESOLE. 


'ESOLE  is  a  quaint  old  town  which 
perches  on  a  hill-top  above  the 
valley  of  the  Arno  and  the  city  of 
Florence.  You  must  not  pronounce  it  as  it 
is  spelt,  but  like  this  —  Fee-es-o-lee.  From 
the  Florence  streets  people  catch  glimpses  of 
its  bell-towers  and  roofs  shining-  above  the 
olive  orchards  and  vineyards  of  the  hillside. 
A  white  road  winds  upward  toward  it  in  long-, 
easy  zigzags,  and  seems  to  say,  "  Come  with 
me  and  I  will  show  you  something  pretty." 

Not  long  ago  there  were  two  girls  in  Florence 
to  whom,  plainly  as  road  could  speak,  the 
white  road  seemed  to  utter  these  very  words. 
Pauline  and  Molly  Hale  were  the  names  of 


68  AT  FIE  SOLE. 

these  girls.  It  was  six  months  since  they  had 
left  America  with  their  father  and  mother,  and 
it  seemed  much  longer,  because  so  much  had 
happened  in  the  time.  First,  the  sea  voyage, 
not  pleasant,  and  yet  not  exactly  unpleasant, 
because  papa  got  better  all  the  way,  and  that 
made  mamma  happy.  Now  papa  would  be 
quite  well  at  once,  they  thought.  His  people 
(for  papa  was  a  clergyman)  had  sent  him  away 
for  that  purpose.  They  were  not  a  rich  people, 
but  each  gave  a  little,  and  all  together  it  made 
enough  to  carry  the  pastor  and  his  family 
across  the  sea  and  keep  them  there  one  year, 
with  very  prudent  management.  The  Hales, 
therefore,  did  not  travel  about  as  most  people 
do,  but  went  straight  to  Italy,  where  they 
hoped  to  find  that  sun  and  warm  air  which 
are  an  invalid's  best  medicines. 

"  Going  straight  to  Italy  "  means,  however, 
a  great  many  pleasant  things  by  the  way. 
Molly  was  always  reminding  Maria  Matilda, 
her  doll,  of  the  sights  she  had  seen  and  the 


AT  FIE  SOLE.  69 

superior  advantages  she  enjoyed  over  the  dolls 
at  home. 

After  this  mention  of  a  doll,  what  will  you 
say  when  I  tell  you  that  Molly  was  almost 
thirteen  ?  Most  girls  of  thirteen  scorn  to  play 
with  dolls,  but  Molly  was  riot  of  their  number. 
She  was  childish  for  her  years,  and  possessed 
a  faithful  little  heart,  which  clung  to  Maria 
Matilda  as  to  an  old  friend  whom  it  would  be 
unkind  to  lay  aside. 

"  First,  there  was  Paris,"  Molly  would  say 
to  her.  "  No,  first  there  was  Deep,  where  the 
people  all  talked  so  queerly  that  we  could  n't 
understand  a  word.  That  was  funny,  Matilda, 
was  n't  it  ?  Then,  don't  you  recollect  that 
beautiful  church  which  we  saw  when  we  went 
past  Euin  f  "  (Molly  meant  Rouen,  but  I  am 
sorry  to  say  her  pronunciation  of  French  names 
was  rather  queer.)  "And  Paris  too,  where  I 
took  you  to  walk  in  the  gardens,  and  papa  let 
us  both  ride  in  a  whirligig.  None  of  the  home 
dollies  have  ever  ridden  in  whirligigs,  have 


70  AT  FIESOLE. 

they  ?  They  won't  understand  what  you  mean 
unless  I  draw  them  a  picture  on  my  slate. 
Then  we  got  into  the  cars,  and  went  and 
went  till  we  came  to  that  great  dark  tunnel. 
Were  n't  we  frightened  ?  And  you  cried, 
Matilda  —  I  heard  you.  You  need  n't  look  so 
ashamed,  though,  for  it  was  horrid.  But  we 
got  out  of  it  at  last,  though  I  thought  we  never 
should  ;  and  here  we  are  at  the  padrona's,  and 
it 's  ever  so  nice,  only  I  wish  papa  would  come 
back." 

For  Florence  had  proved  too  cold,  and  papa 
had  joined  a  party  and  gone  off  to  Egypt, 
leaving  mamma  and  the  children  to  live  quietly 
and  cheaply  at  Signora  Goldi's  boarding-house. 
It  was  a  dingy  house  in  the  old  part  of  Florence, 
but  for  all  that  it  was  a  very  interesting  place 
to  live  in.  The  street  in  which  the  house 
stood  was  extremely  narrow.  High  buildings 
on  either  side  shut  out  the  sun,  the  cobble- 
stone pavement  was  always  dirty,  but  all  day 
long  a  stream  of  people  poured  through  it 


AT  FIE 'SOL K.  71 

wearing  all  sorts  of  curious  clothes,  talking  all 
sorts  of  languages,  and  selling  all  sorts  of 
things.  Men  with  orange-baskets  on  their 
heads  strolled  along,  crying,  "  Oranges,  sweet 
oranges  ! "  Others,  with  panniers  of  flowers, 
chanted,  "  Fiori,  belli  fiori ! "  Pedlers  dis- 
played their  wares  or  waved  gay  stuffs  ;  boys 
held  up  candied  fruits,  wood-carvings,  and 
toys ;  women  went  to  and  fro  bearing  trays 
full  of  a  chocolate-colored  mixture  dotted  with 
the  white  kernels  of  pine-cones.  This  looked 
very  rich  and  nice,  and  the  poor  people  bought 
great  slices  of  it.  Pauline  once  invested  a 
penny  therein,  but  a  single  taste  proved  enough ; 
it  was  sour  and  oily  at  once,  and  she  gave 
the  rest  to  a  small  Italian  girl,  who  looked  de- 
lighted, and  gobbled  it  up  in  huge  mouthfuls. 
Whenever  they  went  out  to  walk,  there  were 
fresh  pleasures.  The  narrow  street  led  directly 
to  a  shining  sunlit  river,  which  streamed 
through  the  heart  of  the  city  like  a  silver 
ribbon.  Beautiful  bridges  spanned  this  river, 


72  AT  FIESOLE. 

some  reared  on  graceful  arches,  some  with 
statues  at  either  end,  one  set  all  along  its 
course  by  quaint  stalls  filled  with  gold  and 
silver  filigree,  chains  of  amber,  and  turquoises 
blue  as  the  sky.  All  over  the  city  were 
delightful  pictures,  churches,  and  gardens, 
open  and  free  to  all  who  chose  to  come. 
Every  day  mamma  and  the  children  went 
somewhere  and  saw  something,  and,  in  spite  of 
papa's  absence,  the  winter  was  a  happy  one. 

Going  to  and  fro  in  the  city,  the  children 
had  often  looked  up  the  Fiesole  hill,  which 
is  visible  from  many  parts  of  Florence,  and 
Pauline  had  conceived  a  strong  wish  to  go 
there.  Molly  did  not  care  so  much,  but  as 
she  always  wanted  to  do  what  Pauline  did, 
she  joined  her  older  sister  in  begging  to  go. 
Mamma,  however,  thought  it  too  far  for  a  walk, 
and  carriage  hire  cost  something ;  so  she  said 
no,  and  the  girls  were  forced  to  content  them- 
selves with  "  making  believe  "  what  they  would 
do  if  ever  they  went  there,  —  a  sort  of  play 


A  T  FfESOLE.  73 

in  which  they  both  delighted.  None  of  the 
things  they  imagined  proved  true  when  they 
did  go  there,  as  you  shall  hear. 

It  was  just  as  they  were  expecting  papa 
back,  that,  coming  in  one  day  from  a  walk 
with  Signora  Goldi,  Pauline  and  Molly  found 
mamma  hard  at  work  packing  a  travelling-bag. 
She  looked  very  pale,  and  had  been  crying. 
No  wonder,  for  the  mail  had  brought  a  letter  to 
say  that  papa,  travelling  alone  from  Egypt,  had 
landed  at  Brindisi  very  ill  with  Syrian  fever. 
The  kind  strangers  who  wrote  the  letter  would 
stay  with  and  take  care  of  him  till  mamma 
could  get  there,  but  she  must  come  at  once. 

"  What  shall  I  do  I"  cried  poor  Mrs.  Hale, 
appealing  in  her  distress  to  Signora  Goldi.  "  I 
cannot  take  the  children  into  a  fever-room,  and 
even  if  that  were  safe,  the  journey  costs  so 
much  that  it  would  be  out  of  the  question. 
Mr.  Hale  left  me  only  money  enough  to  last 
till  his  return.  After  settling  with  you  and 
buying  my  ticket,  I  shall  have  very  little 


74  AT  FIESOLE. 

remaining.  Help  me,  padrona !  Advise  me 
what  to  do." 

Signora  Goldi's  advertisement  said,  "  English 
spoken,"  but  the  English  was  of  a  kind  which 
English  people  found  it  hard  to  understand. 
Her  kind  heart,  however,  stood  her  instead  of 
language,  and  helped  her  to  guess  the  meaning 
of  Mrs.  Hale's  words. 

"  Such  peety  !  "  she  said.  "  Had  I  know,  I 
not  have  let  rooms  for  week  after.  The  signora 
said  l  let '  and  she  sure  to  go,  so  I  let,  else  the 
piccoli  should  stay  wiss  me.  Now  what  ?  "  and 
she  rubbed  her  nose  hard,  and  wrinkled  her 
forehead  in  a  puzzled  way.  "  I  have ! "  she 
cried  at  last,  her  face  beaming.  "  How  the 
piccolini  like  go  to  Fiesole  for  a  little?  My 
brother  who  dead,  he  leave  Engleis  wife.  She 
lady-maid  once,  speak  Engleis  well  as  me !  — 
better  !  She  have  pensione  —  very  small,  but 
good  —  ah,  so  good,  and  it  cost  little,  with  air 
si  buono,  si  fresco  !  " 

The  signora  was  drifting  into  Italian  without 


AT  FIESOLE.  75 

knowing  it,  but  was  stopped  by  the  joyous 
exclamations  of  the  two  girls. 

"  Fiesole !  Oh,  mamma !  just  what  we 
wanted  so  much  !  "  cried  Pauline.  "  Do  let 
us  go  there  ! " 

"  Do,  do  !  "  chimed  in  Molly.  "  I  saw  the 
padrona's  sister  once,  and  she's  so  nice.  Say 
yes,  please,  mamma." 

The  "yes"  was  not  quite  a  happy  one,  but 
what  could  poor  Mrs.  Hale  do  ?  No  better 
plan  offered,  time  pressed,  she  hoped  not  to  be 
obliged  to  stay  long  away  from  the  children, 
and,  as  the  signora  said,  the  Fiesole  hill-top 
must  be  airy  and  wholesome.  So  the  arrange- 
ment was  made,  the  terms  settled,  a  carriage 
was  called,  and  in  what  seemed  to  the  girls  a 
single  moment,  mamma  had  rattled  away,  with 
the  signora  to  buy  her  ticket  and  see  her  off 
at  the  station.  They  looked  at  each  other  dis- 
consolately, and  their  faces  grew  very  long. 

"  We're  just  like  orphans  in  a  book,"  sobbed 
Pauline  at  last,  while  Molly  watered  Matilda's 


76  AT  FIESOLE. 

best  frock  with  salt  tears.  The  signora  had 
a  specially  nice  supper  that  night,  and  petted 
them  a  great  deal,  but  they  were  very  home- 
sick for  mamma,  and  cried  themselves  to  sleep. 
Matters  seemed  brighter  when  they  woke  up 
next  morning  to  find  a  lovely  day,  such  a  day 
as  only  Italy  knows,  with  sunshine  like  gold1, 
sky  of  clearest  blue,  and  the  river  valley 
shining  through  soft  mists  like  finest  filtered 
rainbows.  By  a  happy  chance  the  Fiesole 
sister-in-law  came  to  Florence  that  morning, 
and  drove  up  to  the  door  in  a  droll  little  cart 
drawn  by  a  mouse-colored  mule,  with  a  green 
carrot-top  stuck  over  his  left  ear  and  a  bell 
round  his  neck.  She  gladly  agreed  to  lodge 
the  children,  and  her  pleasant  old  face  and 
English  voice  made  them  at  once  at  home  with 
her.  There  was  just  room  in  the  cart  for  their 
trunk,  and  about  five  in  the  afternoon  they 
set  out,  perched  on  the  narrow  bench  in  front, 
one  on  each  side  of  their  new  friend,  and 
holding  each  other's  hands  tightly  behind  her 


AT  FIE  SOLE.  77 

ample  back.  Signora  Bianclii  was  the  sister- 
in-law's  name,  but  "padrona"  was  easier  to  say, 
and  they  called  her  so  from  the  beginning. 

The  hill-road  was  nowhere  steep,  but  each 
winding  turn  took  them  higher  and  higher 
above  Florence.  They  could  see  the  curvings 
of  the  river,  the  bridges,  the  cathedral  dome, 
and  the  tall,  beautiful  bell-tower,  which  they 
had  been  told  was  the  work  of  the  great  artist 
Giotto.  Further  on,  the  road  was  shut  in 
between  stone  walls.  Over  the  tops  of  these 
hung  rose-vines,  full  of  fresh  pink  roses,  though 
it  was  early  March.  Pauline  and  Molly 
screamed  with  pleasure,  and  the  padrona,  driv- 
ing her  mule  close  under  the  wall,  dragged 
down  a  branch  and  let  them  gather  the  flowers 
for  themselves,  which  was  delightful.  She 
would  not  stop,  however,  when,  a  little  later, 
they  came  to  fields  gay  with  red  and  purple 
anemones,  yellow  tulips,  and  oddly  colored 
wild  lilies  so  dark  as  to  be  almost  black ;  there 
were  plenty  of  such  on  top  of  the  hill,  she  said, 


78  AT  FIESOLE. 

and  they  must  not  be  too  late  in  getting  home. 
The  black  lilies  were  giglios,  —  the  emblem  or 
badge  of  the  city  of  Florence ;  the  children 
had  not  seen  them  before,  but  they  remembered 
the  form  of  the  flower  in  the  carved  shields  over 
the  door  of  some  of  the  old  buildings. 

The  road  ended  in  a  small  paved  piazza, 
which  is  the  Italian  name  for  an  open  square. 
All  about  it  stood  old  buildings,  houses  and 
churches,  and  a  very  ancient  cathedral  with  a 
dirty  leather  curtain  hanging  before  its  door. 
Passing  these,  the  mule  clattered  down  a  nar- 
row side-street,  or  rather  lane.  The  streets  in 
Florence  had  seemed  dark  and  dirty;  but  what 
were  they  compared  with  this  alley,  in  which 
the  wheels  of  the  little  cart  grazed  the  walls  on 
either  side  as  it  passed  along  ?  Rickety  flights 
of  outside  stairs  led  to  the  upper  stories  of  the 
buildings;  overhead,  lines  of  linen,  hung  out 
to  dry,  were  flapping  in  the  wind.  An  ill- 
smelling  stream  of  water  trickled  over  the 
rough  cobble-stone  pavement.  Jolt,  jolt,  jolt ! 


AT  FIESOLE.  7<) 

—  then  the  mule  turned  suddenly  into  a  dark 
place  which  looked  like  a  shabby  stable-yard. 
It  was  the  ground-floor  of  the  padrona's  house, 
and  this  was  the  place  where  Pauline  and  Molly 
were  to  stay !  They  looked  at  each  other  with 
dismayed  faces. 

But  the  padrona  called  them  to  follow,  and 
led  the  way  up  one  stone  staircase  after  another 
till  they  came  to  the  third  story.  Here  things 
were  pleasanter.  It  was  plain  and  bare ;  the 
floors  were  of  brick,  there  were  no  carpets, 
and  the  furniture  was  scanty  and  old,  but  the 
rooms  were  large  and  airy,  and  through  the 
open  casement  bright  rays  of  sunshine  streamed 
in.  Pauline  ran  to  the  window,  and  behold, 
instead  of  the  dirty  lane,  she  saw  the  open 
piazza,  and  beyond,  a  glimpse  of  the  blue  hills 
and  the  Florence  valley !  She  called  Molly, 
and,  perched  on  the  broad  sill,  they  watched 
the  sunset  and  chattered  like  happy  birds,  while 
the  padrona  bustled  to  and  fro,  preparing  supper 
and  spreading  coarse  clean  linen  on  the  beds  of 


80  AT  FIESOLE. 

a  little  chamber  which  opened  from  the  sitting- 
room.  The  padrona's  kitchen  was  about  the 
size  of  an  American  closet.  The  stove  was  a 
stone  shelf  with  two  holes  in  it,  just  big  enough 
to  contain  a  couple  of  quarts  of  charcoal.  It 
was  like  a  doll's  kitchen,  Molly  thought ;  and 
Pauline  stared  when  she  saw  the  padrona  pro- 
duce a  palm-leaf  fan  and  begin  to  fan  the  fire, 
as  if  it  were  faint  and  needed  to  be  revived. 
But  as  she  gazed,  the  charcoal  was  coaxed  into 
a  glow,  the  little  pots  and  pans  bubbled,  and 
hey,  presto  !  supper  was  ready,  with  half  the 
trouble  and  a  quarter  the  fuel  which  would  have 
been  needed  to  set  one  of  our  big  home  ranges 
going.  It  was  a  queer  supper,  but  very  good, 
the  children  thought;  their  long  drive  had 
made  them  hungry,  and  the  omelette,  salad,  and 
polenta,  or  fried  mush,  tasted  delicious.  Every- 
thing was  nice  but  the  bread,  which  was  dark 
in  color  and  had  an  unpleasant  sour  taste.  The 
padrona  smiled  when  she  saw  them  put  aside 
their  untasted  slices,  and  said  that  she  too  used 


AT  FIE  SOLE.  81 

to  dislike  Italian  bread,  but  that  now  she  pre- 
ferred it  to  any  other. 

The  padrona  was  delighted  with  her  young 
visitors.  She  had  long  been  a  widow.  One  of 
her  sons  was  in  the  army,  and  seldom  at  home; 
the  other  helped  her  about  the  house  and  tilled 
a  little  meadow  which  belonged  to  them.  She 
had  no  daughter  to  keep  her  company,  and  the 
sweet,  bright-faced  American  girls  pleased  her 
greatly.  She  helped  the  sisters  to  undress,  and 
tucked  them  into  their  beds  as  kindly  as  any 
old  nurse,  and  they  fell  asleep  with  her  pleas- 
ant voice  in  their  ears  :  "  Good-night  and  good 
dreams,  little  miss." 

The  morrow  brought  another  fine  day,  and 
the  girls  improved  it  for  a  ramble  about  the 
quaint  town.  It  seemed  to  them  the  very  old- 
est place  they  had  ever  seen  —  and,  in  fact, 
Fiesole  is  older  far  than  Florence,  of  which  it 
was  first  the  cradle  and  afterward  the  foe.  They 
stood  a  long  time  before  the  windows  of  the 
straw-shop,  choosing  the  things  they  would  like 


82  A  T  FIESOLE. 

to  buy  if  they  had  any  money !  Pauline  fell 
in  love  with  a  straw  parasol,  and  Molly  han- 
kered after  a  work-basket  for  mamma.  Both  of 
them  felt  that  it  was  dreadful  to  be  poor,  but 
there  was  no  help  for  it.  Then  they  climbed  to 
an  upper  terrace  and  sat  a  long  time  looking 
on  the  fine  view  it  commanded,  and  talking  in 
gestures  to  some  brown  little  children  who  came 
up  to  beg  from  them.  After  that,  they  lifted 
the  curtain  over  the  cathedral  door,  and  stole 
quietly  about  the  ancient  church.  It  was  dark 
and  shabby  and  worm-eaten ;  but  as  they 
wandered  to  and  fro  they  came  upon  beautiful 
things,  —  tombs  of  sculptured  marble  writh  fig- 
ures of  saints  and  madonnas,  wreaths  of  marble 
flowers,  bits  of  old  carved  wood  as  black  as 
ebony.  It  was  strange  to  find  such  treasures 
hidden  away  in  the  dust  and  gloom,  and  to 
think  that  there  they  were,  dusty  and  gloomy 
and  old,  before  Columbus  discovered  the  very 
new  continent  which  we  call  America  !  A  queer 
smell  breathed  about  the  place,  a  smell  of  must 


A  T  FIESOLE.  83 

and  age  and  dried-up  incense.  Pauline  and 
Molly  were  glad  to  get  away  from  it  and  feel 
the  fresh  air  and  the  sunshine  again.  They 
rambled  on  to  the  western  slope  of  the  hill,  and 
a  little  way  down,  where  the  land  descends  in 
terraces  to  the  wooded  valley  below,  they  came 
upon  the  ruins  of  a  Roman  amphitheatre. 
They  had  never  seen  an  amphitheatre  before, 
but  they  guessed  what  it  was  from  a  picture 
which  mamma  had  shown  them.  On  the  ledges 
which  once  were  seats,  where  spectators  seated 
in  rows  had  watched  the  lions  and  the  gladia- 
tors fight,  crowds  of  purple  violets  now  lifted 
their  sweet  faces  to  the  sky. 

After  that,  the  amphitheatre  became  their 
favorite  walk,  and  they  went  back  every  day. 
The  padrona  warned  them  against  sitting  long 
on  the  ground  or  staying  out  till  the  sunset 
dews  fell,  but  they  heeded  what  she  said  very 
little ;  it  seemed  impossible  that  so  pleasant  a 
spot  could  have  any  harm  about  it.  But  at  last 
came  a  morning  when  Pauline  recollected  the 


84  AT  FIESOLE. 

padrona's  warnings,  with  a  great  frightened 
heart-jump,  for  Molly  waked  up  hot  and  thirsty, 
and,  when  she  lifted  her  head  from  the  pillow, 
let  it  fall  back  again,  and  complained  of  being 
dizzy.  The  padrona  made  her  some  tea,  and 
after  a  while  she  felt  better  and  got  up.  But 
all  that  day  and  the  next  she  looked  pale,  and 
dragged  one  foot  after  the  other  as  she  went 
about,  and  the  third  day  fever  came  upon  her 
in  good  earnest.  Tea  did  no  good  this  time, 
and  she  lay  still  and  heavy,  with  burning  hands 
and  flushed  cheeks.  The  padrona  tried  various 
simple  medicines,  and  Pauline  sat  all  day  bath- 
ing Molly's  head  and  fanning  her,  but  neither 
medicine  nor  fanning  was  of  use ;  and  as  night 
came  on,  and  the  fever  grew  higher,  Molly  be- 
gan to  toss  and  call  for  mamma,  and  to  cry  out 
about  her  pillow,  which  was  stuffed  with  wool 
and  very  hard. 

61 1  don't  like  this  pillow,  Pauline  —  indeed  I 
don't,  it  makes  my  neck  ache  so !  Why  don't 
you  take  it  away,  Pauline,  and  give  me  a  nice 


A  r  FIESOLE.  85 

soft  pillow,  such  as  we  used  to  have  at  home  ? 
And  I  want  some  ice,  and  some  good  American 
water  to  drink.  This  water  is  bad.  I  can't 
drink  it.  Make  the  ice  clink  in  the  tumbler, 
please  —  because  if  I  hear  it  clink  I  shan't  be 
thirsty  any  more.  And  call  mamma.  I  must 
see  mamma.  Mamma  !  " 

And  Molly  tried  to  get  up,  and  then  tumbled 
back  and  fell  into  a  doze,  while  poor  Pau- 
line sat  beside  her  with  a  lump  in  her  throat 
which  seemed  to  grow  worse  every  moment, 
and  to  bid  fair  to  choke  her  entirely  if  it 
didn't  stop.  She  did  not  dare  to  sob  aloud, 
for  fear  of  rousing  Molly,  but  the  tears  ran 
quietly  down  her  cheeks  as  she  thought  of 
home  and  mamma,  Where  was  she  ?  How 
was  papa  ?  Why  did  n't  they  write  I  And, 
oh  dear  !  what  should  she,  should  she  do,  if 
Molly  were  to  be  very  ill  in  that  lonely  place, 
where  there  was  no  doctor  or  any  of  the  nice 
things  which  people  in  sickness  need  so  much  f 
No  one  can  imagine  how  forlorn  Pauline  felt  — • 


86  AT  FIESOLE. 

that  is,  no  one  who  has  not  tried  the  experi- 
ment of  taking  care  of  a  sick  friend  in  a  foreign 
land,  where  the  ways  and  customs  are  strange 
and  uncomfortable,  and  the  necessaries  of  good 
nursing  cannot  be  had. 

Nobody  in  the  world  could  be  kinder  than 
was  the  padrona  to  her  young  invalid  guest. 
Night  after  night  she  sat  up,  all  day  long  she 
watched  and  nursed  and  cooked  and  comforted. 
Pauline  clung  to  this  friend  in  need  as  to  the 
only  helper  left  in  the  wide  world.  Beppo, 
the  padrona's  son,  walked  into  Florence  and 
brought  out  a  little  Italian  doctor,  who  ordered 
beef-tea,  horrified  Pauline  by  a  hint  of  bleed- 
ing, and  left,  promising  to  come  again,  which 
promise  he  did  n't  keep.  Pauline  was  glad  that 
he  did  not ;  she  felt  no  confidence  in  the  little 
doctor,  and  she  knew,  besides,  that  doctors 
cost  money,  and  the  small  sum  which  mamma 
left  was  almost  gone.  Day  after  day  passed, 
Molly  growing  no  better,  the  padrona  more 
anxious,  Pauline  more  unhappy.  It  seemed  as 


AT  FIESOLE.  87 

if  years  and  years  had  gone  by  since  mamma 
left  them,  —  almost  as  if  it  were  a  dream  that 
they  ever  had  a  mamma,  or  a  home,  or  any  of 
the  happy  things  which  now  looked  so  sadly 
far  away. 

Then  came  the  darkest  day  of  all,  when 
Molly  lay  so  white  and  motionless  that  Pauline 
thought  her  dead :  when  the  padrona  sat  for 
hours,  putting  a  spoonful  of  something  between 
the  pale  lips  every  little  while,  but  never 
speaking,  arid  the  moments  dragged  along  as 
though  shod  with  lead.  Morning  grew  to  noon, 
noon  faded  into  the  dimness  of  twilight,  still 
the  white  face  on  the  pillow  did  not  stir,  and 
still  the  padroria  sat  silently  and  dropped  in  her 
spoonfuls.  At  last  she  stopped,  laid  down  the 
spoon,  bent  over  Molly,  and  listened.  Was 
any  breath  at  all  coming  from  the  quiet  lips  ? 

"  Oh,  padrona,  is  she  dead!"  sobbed  Paul- 
ine, burying  her  face  in  the  bedclothes. 

"  No,  she  is  asleep,"  said  the  padrona.  Then 
she  hid  her  own  face  and  said  a  prayer  of 


88  A  T  FIE  SOLE. 

thankfulness,  while  Pauline  wept  for  joy, 
hushing  herself  as  much  as  possible,  that  Molly 
might  not  be  disturbed. 

All  that  night  and  far  into  the  morning 
the  blessed  sleep  continued,  and  when  Molly 
awoke  the  fever  was  gone.  She  was  very 
white,  and  as  weak  as  a  baby ;  but  Pauline 
and  the  padrona  were  happy  again,  for  they 
knew  that  she  was  going  to  get  well. 

So  another  week  crept  by,  each  day  bringing 
a  little  more  strength  and  appetite  to  Molly, 
and  a  little  more  color  to  her  pale  face,  and 
then  the  padrona  thought  she  might  venture  to 
sit  up.  They  propped  her  up  in  a  big  chair  with 
many  pillows  ("  brickbats"  Molly  called  them), 
and  had  just  pulled  her  across  the  room  to  the 
window,  when  a  carriage  rattled  on  the  stones 
below,  somebody  ran  upstairs,  and  into  the 
room  burst  mamma !  Yes,  the  little  mamma 
herself,  pale  as  Molly  almost,  from  the  fright 
she  had  gone  through  ;  but  so  overjoyed  to 
see  them,  and  so  relieved  at  finding  Molly 


AT  FIE  SOLE.  S!> 

up  and  getting  well,  that  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  a  hearty  cry,  in  which  all  took  part,  arid 
which  did  them  all  a  great  deal  of  good. 

Then  came  explanations.  Papa  was  a  great 
deal  better.  The  doctor  thought  the  fever 
would  do  him  good  in  the  end  rather  than 
harm.  But  lie  was  still  weak,  and  mamma  had 
left  him  to  rest  at  the  hotel  in  Florence  while 
she  flew  up  the  hill  to  her  children.  Why 
did  n't  she  write  1  She  had  written,  again  and 
again,  but  the  letters  had  gone  astray  some- 
how, and  none  of  the  girls'  notes  had  reached 
her  except  one  from  Molly,  written  just  after 
they  went  to  Fiesole.  I  may  as  well  say  now 
that  all  these  missing  letters  followed  them  to 
America  three  months  later,  with  a  great  deal 
of  postage  to  be  paid  on  them  ;  but  they  were 
not  of  much  use  then,  as  you  can  imagine  ! 

There  was  so  much  to  say  and  to  hear  that 
it  seemed  as  though  they  could  never  get 
through.  Pauline  held  mamma's  hand  tight, 
and  cried  and  laughed  by  turns. 


90  AT  FIESOLE. 

"  It  was  dreadful !  "  she  said.  "It  was  just 
exactly  as  if  you  and  papa  and  everybody  we 
knew  were  dead  and  we  were  left  all  alone. 
And  I  thought  Molly  would  die  too,  and  then 
what  would  have  become  of  me  ?  The  padrona 
has  been  so  kind  —  you  can't  think  how  kind. 
She  sat  up  nine  nights  with  Molly,  and  always 
said  she  was  n't  tired  ;  but  I  knew  she  was.  I 
used  to  think  it  must  be  the  nicest  place  in 
the  world  up  here  at  Fiesole,  but  I  never  want 
to  see  it  again  in  all  my  life." 

"  Don't  say  that,  for  Molly  has  got  well  here. 
And  the  good  padrona  too  !  You  ought  to  love 
Fiesole  for  her  sake." 

"So  I  ought,  And  I  do  love  her.  But 
you  '11  not  ever  go  away  and  leave  us  anywhere 
again,  will  you,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  replied  mamma, 
speaking  over  Molly's  head,  which  was  nestled 
comfortably  on  her  shoulder.  There  were  tears 
in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke.  It  had  not  been 
possible  to  help  it,  but  the  tender  mother's 


AT  FIE  SOLE.  [)\ 

heart  felt  it  a  wrong  to  her  children  that  they 
should  have  been  without  her  in  sickness. 

It  was  another  week  before  Molly  could  be 
moved.  Mamma  drove  up  twice  during1  that 
time,  bringing  oranges  and  wine  and  all  sorts 
of  nice  things,  and  the  last  time  a  parcel  with 
a  present  in  it  for  the  children  to  give  to  the 
padrona.  It  was  a  pretty  silk  shawl  and  a 
small  gold  pin  to  fasten  it.  Pauline  and  Molly 
were  enchanted  to  make  this  gift,  and  the 
padrona  admired  the  shawl  extremely ;  but 
Mrs.  Hale  sorrowfully  longed  to  be  richer,  that 
she  might  heap  many  tokens  of  gratitude  in 
the  kind  hands  which  had  worked  so  lovingly 
for  her  little  girls  in  their  trouble. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  say  good-bye,"  were  Molly's 
last  w^ords  as  she  leaned  from  the  carriage  for 
a  parting  hug.  "  Dear  padrona,  how  I  wish 
you  would  just  come  with  us  to  America  and 
live  there.  We  would  call  you  '  aunty '  and 
love  you  so,  and  be  so  glad,  you  can't  think  ! 
Do  come  !  " 


92  AT  FIESOLE. 

But  the  padrona,  smiling  and  tearful,  sliook 
her  head  and  declared  that  she  could  never 
leave  her  boys  and  the  hill-top  and  old  neigh- 
bors, but  must  stay  in  -Fiesole  as  long  as  she 
lived.  So  with  many  kisses  and  blessings  the 
good-byes  were  uttered,  and  out  of  the  narrow 
street  and  across  the  piazza  rattled  the  carriage, 
and  so  down  the  hill-road  to  Florence. 

Pauline  and  Molly  are  safe  in  America  now. 
They  tell  the  girls  at  school  a  great  deal  about 
what  they  saw  and  where  they  went,  but  they 
don't  talk  much  of  the  time  of  Molly's  illness ; 
and  when  Matilda  Maria,  who  lives  in  a  drawer 
now,  entertains  the  other  dolls  with  tales  of 
travel,  she  skips  that.  It  is  still  too  fresh  in 
their  memories,  and  too  sad,  for  them  to  like 
to  speak  of  it.  But  sometimes,  after  they  go  to 
bed  at  night,  they  put  their  heads  on  the  same 
pillow  and  whisper  to  each  other  about  the  old 
church,  the  amphitheatre,  the  padrona,  those 
days  of  fever,  and  all  the  other  things  that  hap- 
pened to  them  when  mamma  went  away  and 
left  them  alone  at  Fiesole. 


QUEEN     BLOSSOM. 


ROMPTLY  the  bell  tinkled  for  noon 
recess  in  the  red  school-house,  and 
boys  and  girls  came  trooping  out 
into  the  sunshine,  which  was  warm  as  summer 
that  day.  Nobody  stayed  behind  except  Miss 
Sparks,  the  teacher.  She  turned  the  damper  in 
the  stove  to  make  it  warmer,  and  put  on  more 
wood  ;  then  took  a  roll  of  bread  and  butter  and 
a  large  pickled  cucumber  out  of  her  desk  and 
sat  down  to  lunch,  and  to  read  Young's  "  Night 
Thoughts,"  which  somebody  had  told  her  was 
an  "  improving "  book.  The  heat  soon  made 
her  head  ache,  and  "  Night  Thoughts  "  and  the 
cucumber  aiding,  the  children,  had  they  only 
known  it,  were  in  a  fair  way  to  pass  an  ex- 
tremely unpleasant  afternoon. 


94  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

Luckily  they  did  not  know  it,  otherwise  the 
pleasure  of  the  recess  would  have  been  spoiled, 
which  would  have  been  a  pity,  for  the  recess 
was  very  pleasant.  There  was  the  sun  for  one 
thing ;  and  real,  warm,  yellow  sun  is  a  treat  in 
April,  not  always  to  be  had.  There  were  the 
woods,  beginning  to  be  beautiful,  although  not 
a  leaf-bud  was  yet  visible.  Spring  was  awake, 
and  busy  at  her  silent  work,  varnishing  brown 
boughs  to  glossy  brightness,  tinting  shoots  and 
twigs  with  pink  and  yellow  and  soft  red  colors, 
arranging  surprises  everywhere.  The  children 
could  not  have  put  into  words  the  feeling  which 
made  the  day  so  delightful,  but  all  were  aware 
of  it,  and  each,  in  his  or  her  way,  prepared  to 
enjoy  the  hour.  One  tiny  snow-drift  remained 
in  a  leaf-strewn  hollow.  The  boys  found  it  out, 
and  fell  to  snow-balling  with  the  zest  of  those 
who  do  not  hope  to  see  snow  again  for  many  a 
long  month.  Big  girls,  with  arms  about  each 
other's  waists,  walked  to  and  fro,  whispering 
together.  The  smaller  children  cuddled  into 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  ()5 

a  sunny  fence  corner,  and,  like  Wordsworth's 
village  maid, 

u  Took  their  little  porringers, 
And  ate  their  dinners  there." 

A  group  of  girls,  not  so  big  as  those,  nor  so 
little  as  these,  strolled  off  into  the  woods,  talk- 
ing as  they  went. 

"  Now  you  just  hush  up,  Winnie  Boker," 
said  one.  "  It 's  no  use,  for  we  won't  have 
her.  She's  been  Queen  ever  so  many  times, 
and  now  it's  somebody  else's  turn.  There 
are  other  girls  in  town  besides  Blossom,  I 
guess." 

"  Oh  yes,  Marianne ;  it  is  n't  that"  broke  in 
Winnie,  the  words  running  out  of  her  eager 
mouth  so  fast  that  they  tumbled  over  each 
other.  "It  isn't  that  at  all.  You'd  make 
a  first-rate  Queen,  or  so  would  Arabella  or 
Eunice.  But,  don't  you  see,  Blossom  always 
was  Queen,  and  now  she 's  sick  I  'm  afraid  she  'd 
feel  badly  if  we  chose  somebody  else." 

"  Dear  me,  what  nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Ara- 


96  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

bella,  a  tall  girl  in  purple  calico,  with  sharp 
black  eyes  and  a  Roman  nose.  "  It  wasn't  fair 
a  bit,  ma  says,  to  have  Blossom  always.  Ma 
says  other  people  have  got  rights  too.  You 
need  n't  be  so  fiery  about  that  stuck-up  Blossom, 
Winnie." 

"Oh,  I'm  not,"  began  Winnie,  peaceably, 
"but  —  " 

"  My  father  says  that  Blossom  is  the  prettiest 
girl  in  the  whole  township,"  broke  in  Charlie 
Starr,  excitedly ;  "  and  it  ?s  real  mean  of  you  to 
call  her  stuck-up.  Don't  you  recollect  how 
sweet  she  looked  last  year  in  her  white  dress, 
and  what  a  pretty  speech  she  made  when  George 
Thome  put  the  crown  on  her  head  I  She  never 
said  unkind  things  or  called  anybody  names ! 
She  's  always  been  May-Queen,  and  I  say  it  ?s 
a  shame  to  leave  her  out  just  because  she's 
sick." 

"You're  a  goose,"  responded  Arabella. 
"  Who  wants  a  sick  Queen  of  the  May  ?  She  '11 
never  be  well  again,  the  doctor  says ;  and  as 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.      v  97 

for  her  beauty,  that's  gone  for  good.  Ma 
declares  that  it 's  absurd  to  call  her  Blossom 
any  more.  It  is  n't  her  real  name,  only  her 
pa  named  her  so  when  she  was  little,  because 
he  was  so  proud  of  her  looks.  Her  real 
name 's  Sarah  Jane,  and  1  'm  going  to  call  her 
Sarah  Jane  always.  So  there  now,  Charlotte 
Starr!" 

"  You  bad  girl ! "  cried  Charlie,  almost  in 
tears.  "  How  can  you !  Poor  dear  Blos- 
som ! " 

"  Stop  quarrelling,"  said  Laura  Riggs,  "  and 
listen  to  my  plan.  Blossom  can't  be  Queen, 
anyhow,  don't  you  see,  because  she 's  too  sick 
to  come  to  the  celebration.  So  what 's  the  use 
of  fighting  about  her  ?  " 

"  I  thought  we  could  go  to  her,  and  put  on 
the  crown  and  all,  and  it  would  be  such  a  sur- 
prise," ventured  Winnie,  timidly.  "  She  'd  be 
so  pleased." 

"  I  suppose  she  would,"  sneered  Arabella, 
"  only,  you  see,  we  don't  mean  to  do  it." 


98  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

"  I  propose  that  we  call  all  the  boys  and  girls 
together  after  school,  and  vote  who  shall  be 
Queen,"  went  on  Laura.  "  Then  to-morrow 
we  can  go  a  flower-hunting,  'and  have  the 
wreath  all  ready  for  next  day.  It's  splen- 
did that  May-day  comes  on  Saturday  this 
year." 

"I  know  who  I  shall  vote  for, — and  I, — 
and  I,"  cried  the  children. 

Winnie  and  Charlotte  did  not  join  in  the  cry. 
They  moved  a  little  way  off,  and  looked  sadly 
at  each  other.  To  them,  poor  Blossom,  sick 
and  neglected,  seemed  still  the  rightful  Queen 
of  the  May. 

"  I  Ve  thought  of  a  plan,"  whispered  Charlie. 

"What?" 

But  the  answer  was  so  softly  spoken  that 
nobody  but  Winnie  could  hear. 

Did  I  say  nobody  f  I  was  wrong.  Ceiiain 
fine  ears  which  were  listening  heard  all,  ques- 
tion and  answer  both.  These  ears  belonged  to 
a  little  hepatica,  who  had  stolen  up  very  near 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  99 

the  surface  of  the  ground  to  hearken,  and,  with 
a  tiny  leaf-hand  curled  behind  her  lilac  ear,  had 
caught  every  syllable.  Whatever  the  secret 
was,  it  pleased  her,  for  she  clapped  both  hands 
and  called  out,  — 

"  Listen  !  listen  !  Hepsy,  Patty,  Violet,  — all 
of  you, — listen  !  " 

"What  is  it  —  what!"  cried  the  other  flow- 
ers, crowding  near  her. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  what  those  two  little  girls 
were  saying,  —  Winnie  and  —  what  is  her 
.  name  —  Charlie  t  " 

"  No,  we  heard  nothing.  We  were  listening 
to  the  tiresome  ones  who  quarrelled.  How 
horrid  children  are  !  " 

"  Go  a  flower-hunting  indeed,"  tittered  a 
bloodroot.  "  They  are  welcome  to  hunt,  but 
they  will  find  110  flowers." 

"Indeed  they  won't.  I'd  bite  if  they  tried 
to  pick  me,"  said  a  dog-tooth  violet. 

"Ach!  fancy  their  fingers  at  your  stem," 
shuddered  a  pale  wind-flower. 


100  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

"  How  little  they  guessed  that  we  were 
listening  to  it  all,"  laughed  a  white  anemone. 

"  Ring-a-ling,  ring-a-ling, 
We  '11  be  as  late  as  we  can  this  spring," 

sang  a  columbine. 

"  We  know  when  to  go  and  when  to  stay ; 
when  to  open  and  when  to  shut,"  said  a  twin- 
flower. 

"Where  is  Mamma  Spring!"  inquired  the 
dog-tooth  violet. 

"On  the  other  side  the  wood,"  replied  the 
columbine.  "  But  she  can't  be  interrupted  just 
now.  She 's  very  busy  cutting  out  Dutch- 
man's Breeches.  There  are  five,  hundred  pairs 
to  be  finished  before  night." 

"All  of  the  same  everlasting  old  pattern," 
grumbled  a  trillium. 

"  But  listen ;  you  don't  listen,"  urged  the 
lilac  hepatica.  "^4//the  children  didn't  quar- 
rel. My  two  —  the  two  I  liked  —  were  gentle 
and  sweet,  and  they  have  a  plan  —  a  kind  plan 
—  about  somebody  named  Blossom.  They 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  101 

want  to  give  her  a  surprise  with  flowers  and 
a  wreath,  and  make  her  Queen  of  the  May, 
because  she  is  ill  and  lies  in  bed.  Let  us  help. 
I  like  them ;  and  Blossom  is  a  pretty  name." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  they  did  not  quarrel?" 
asked  the  wind-flower,  anxiously.  "  It  made 
me  shiver  to  hear  the  others." 

"No,  they  didn't  quarrel.  When  the  rest 
would  not  listen,  they  moved  away  and  made 
their  little  plan  in  a  whisper." 

"And  what  was  the  plan?"  inquired  the 
bloodroot. 

"  Oh,  they  are  wise  little  things.  The  others 
are  going  to  have  a  '  celebration '  on  Saturday, 
with  a  great  deal  of  pie  and  cake  and  fuss.  I 
shall  tell  Mamma  Spring  to  order  up  an  east 
wind  and  freeze  them  well,  little  monsters ! 
But  my  two  are  coming  into  the  woods  quietly 
to-morrow  to  search  for  flowers.  I  heard 
Charlie  tell  Winnie  that  she  knew  where  the 
first  May-flowers  always  come  out,  and  they 
would  look  there.  We  know  too,  don't  v/e? 


102  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

In  the  hollow  behind  the  beech- wood,  on  the 
south  bank." 

"  They  're  not  there  yet,"  said  the  columbine, 
yawning. 

"No,  but  they're  all  packed  and  ready,"  said 
the  lilac  hepatica.  "Do  let  us  telegraph  them 
to  start  at  once.  I  somehow  feel  as  if  I  should 
like  to  please  Blossom  too." 

So  the  trillium,  who  was  telegraph  operator, 
stooped  down  and  dragged  up  a  thread-like 
root,  fine  as  wire. 

"  What  is  the  message  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Be  —  in  —  flower  —  by  —  to-morrow  — 
noon  —  for  —  Charlie  —  and  —  Winnie,"  dic- 
tated the  hepatica.  "  Precisely  ten  words." 

"  All  right,"  responded  the  bloodroot,  with 
his  fingers  on  the  wire.  Tap,  tap,  tap,  tap, 
tap  ;  the  message  was  sent,  and  presently  came 
an  answering  vibration. 

"  All  right.  We  are  off."  It  was  the  reply 
of  the  May-flowers. 

"  What  a  fine  thing  is  the  telegraph  !  "  sighed 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  103 

a  sentimental  sand-violet,  while  the  hepatica 
rubbed  her  little  lilac  palms  gleefully,  and 
exclaimed,  — 

"  I  flatter  myself  that  job  is  as  good  as  done. 
Hurrah  for  Queen  Blossom  !  " 

The  other  girls  did  not  notice  Winnie  and 
Charlie  particularly  next  day  as  they  stole  from 
the  rest  and  crept  away  almost  on  tiptoe  to 
the  south  bank,  where  the  arbutus  might  be  in 
bloom.  Drifted  leaves  hid  the  bottom  of  the 
hollow.  At  first  sight  there  was  no  promise 
of  flowers ;~  but  our  little  maids  were  too  wise 
to  be  discouraged.  Carefully  they  picked  their 
way  down,  brushed  aside  the  brown  leaves,  and 
presently  a  shriek  from  both  announced  dis- 
covery. 

"  Oh,  the  darlings  !  "  cried  Winnie. 

There  they  were,  the  prompt,  punctual  May- 
flowers, so  lately  arrived  that  only  half  their 
leaves  were  uncurled,  and  the  dust  of  travel 
still  lay  on  their  tendrils.  For  all  that,  they 
were  not  too  tired  to  smile  at  the  happy  faces 


104  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

that  bent  over  them  as  the  little  girls  lifted  the 
leaf  blankets  and  gently  drew  them  from  their 
hiding-place.  Pale  buds  winked  and  bright- 
ened ;  the  fuller  flowers  opened  wide  pink 
eyes ;  all  shook  their  ivory  incense-bottles  at 
once,  and  sent  out  sweet  smells,  which  mixed 
deliciously  with  the  fragrance  of  fresh  earth,  of 
moving  sap,  and  sun-warmed  mosses. 

"  Should  n't  you  think  they  had  come  out 
on  purpose  ?  "  said  Winnie,  kissing  one  of  the 
pinkest  clusters. 

"We  did!  we  did!"  cried  the  May-flowers 
in  chorus.  But  the  children  did  not  under- 
stand the  flower-language,  though  the  flowers 
knew  well  what  the  children  said.  Flowers 
are  very  clever,  you  see ;  much  cleverer  than 
little  girls. 

Winnie  and  Charlie  hid  their  treasures  in  a 
tin  dinner-pail,  pouring  in  a  little  water  to  keep 
them  fresh,  and  carefully  shutting  the  lid.  They 
did  not  want  to  have  their  secret  found  out. 

Going  home,  they  met  the  others,  looking 
somewhat  disconsolate. 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  105 

"  Where  have  you  been  ? "  they  cried.  "  We 
looked  everywhere  for  you." 

"Oh,  in  the  woods,"  said  Winnie,  while 
Charlie  asked,  — 

"  Did  you  find  any  flowers  1 " 

u  Not  one,"  cried  Arabella,  crossly ;  "  the 
spring  is  so  late  ;  it 's  a  shame.  Carrie  Briggs 
is  chosen  Queen,  and  Miriam  Gray  is  going  to 
lend  us  some  paper  flowers  for  the  crown. 
They  will  do  just  as  well." 

"  Paper  flowers!  "  began  Charlie,  indignantly ; 
but  Winnie  checked  her,  and  pretty  soon  their 
path  turned  off  from  that  of  the  others. 

"  Come  early  to-morrow  and  help  us  make 
the  throne,"  called  out  Marianne. 

"  We  can't :  we  've  got  something  else  to  do," 
called  back  Charlie. 

"What!" 

"  We  're  going  to  see  Blossom/' 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  Do  let  that  everlasting  Sarah 
Jane  alone,  and  come  and  have  a  good  time," 
screamed  Arabella  after  them. 


106  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

Winnie  laughed  and  shook  her  head.  The 
others  went  on. 

Blossom  lay  in  bed  next  morning.  She 
always  lay  in  bed  now,  and  it  was  pitiful  to  see 
what  a  pale  blossom  she  had  become.  Only  a 
year  before  her  cheeks  had  been  rosier,  her 
limbs  more  active,  than  those  of  any  of  the 
children  who  daily  passed  her  window  on  their 
way  to  school.  One  unlucky  slip  on  the  ice  had 
brought  all  this  to  an  end,  and  now  the  doctor 
doubted  if  ever  she  could  get  up  and  be  well 
and  strong  as  she  used  to  be.  The  pretty 
name,  given  in  her  days  of  babyhood,  sounded 
sadly  now  to  the  parents  who  watched  her  so 
anxiously ;  but  no  name  could  be  too  sweet, 
her  mother  thought,  for  the  dear,  patient  child, 
who  bore  her  pain  so  brightly  and  rewarded 
all  care  and  kindness  with  such  brave  smiles. 
Blossom  she  was  still,  though  white  and  thin, 
and  Blossom  she  would  always  be,  although 
she  might  never  bloom  again  as  once  she  did, 
until  set  in  the  Lord's  garden,  where  no  frosts 
come  to  hurt  the  flowers. 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  107 

"  Happy  May-day/'  she  said,  as  her  mother 
came  in.  "I  wonder  what  the  girls  are  doing. 
Winnie  didn't  come  yesterday.  I  don't  even 
know  who  is  to  be  Queen.  Have  you  heard, 
mamma  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  think  they  'd  want  to  have 
any  Queen  on  such  a  cold  day  as  this,"  replied 
mamma.  "  Look  how  the  boughs  are  blowing 
in  the  wind.  It  feels  like  March  out  doors." 

"  Oh,  they  're  sure  to  want  a  Queen,"  said 
Blossom.  "  May-day  is  such  fun.  I  used  to 
like  it  better  than  any  day  in  the  year." 

"  Somebody  wants  to  spake  to  ye,  ma'am,  if 
you  pl'ase,"  said  Norah,  putting  her  head  in  at 
the  door. 

"  Very  well.  Blossom,  dear,  you  don't  mind 
being  left  alone  for  a  minute  I  " 

"  Oh  no,  indeed.  I  've  such  a  nice  book 
here."  But  Blossom  did  not  open  her  book 
after  mamma  went  away,  but  lay  looking  out 
of  the  window  to  where  the  elm-boughs  were 
rocking  in  the  wind.  Her  face  grew  a  little  sad. 


108  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

"  How  nice  it  used  to  be ! "  she  said  to 
herself. 

Just  then  she  heard  a  queer  noise  in  the 
entry  —  drumming,  and  something  else  which 
sounded  like  music.  Next,  the  door  opened, 
and  a  procession  of  two  marched  in.  Charlie 
was  the  head  of  the  procession.  She  wore  a 
pink-and-white  calico,  and  tied  about  her  neck 
with  a  pink  string  was  Willie  Smith's  drum, 
borrowed  for  the  occasion.  Winnie,  in  her  best 
blue  gingham,  brought  up  the  rear,  her  mouth 
full  of  harmonica.  Winnie  also  carried  a  flat 
basket,  covered  with  a  white  napkin,  and  the 
two  girls  kept  step  as  they  marched  across  the 
room  to  Blossom's  bedside,  who  lay  regarding 
them  with  eyes  wide  open  from  amazement. 

"  Happy  May-day,  Queen  Blossom,"  sang 
Charlie,  flourishing  her  drumsticks. 

"  Happy  May-day,  Queen  Blossom,"  chimed 
in  Winnie,  taking  the  harmonica  from  her 
mouth. 

11  Happy    May-day,"     responded     Blossom. 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  109 

"But — how  funny  —  what   do   you   call   me 

Queen  Blossom  for  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  Queen,  and  we  have  come 
to  crown  you,"  replied  Charlie.  Then  she  laid 
down  the  drumsticks,  lifted  the  white  napkin, 
and  in  a  solemn  tone  began  to  repeat  these 
verses,  which  she  and  Winnie  —  with  a  little 
help  from  somebody,  I  guess  —  had  written  the 
evening  before. 

Never  mind  who  the  others  choose  ; 

You  are  the  Queen  for  us  ; 
They  're  welcome  to  their  paper  flowers 
And  fuss. 

We  bring  our  Queen  a  wreath  of  May, 

And  put  it  on  her  head, 
And  crown  her  sweetest,  though  she  lies 
In  bed. 

These  flowers,  dear  Blossom,  bloomed  for  you, 

The  fairest  in  the  land  ; 

Wear  them,  and  give  your  subjects  leave  to  kiss 
Your  hand. 

Charlie  finished  the  verses  with  great  gravity. 
Then,    drawing    the    May- wreath     from     the 


110  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

basket,  she  put  it  on  Blossom's  head,  after 
which,  instead  of  kissing  the  royal  hand, 
according  to  programme,  she  clapped  both  her 
own  and  began  to  dance  about  the  bed  ex- 
claiming, — 

"  Was  n't  that  nice  ?  Are  n't  they  pretty  ? 
We  made  them  up  ourselves  —  Winnie  and  I. 
Why,  Blossom,  you  're  crying." 

In  fact,  Queen  Blossom  was  crying. 

It  was  only  a  very  little  cry  — -  just  a  drop 
or  two,  with  a  rainbow  to  follow.  In  another 
minute  Blossom  had  winked  the  tears  away, 
and  was  smiling  brightly. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  cry,"  she  exclaimed,  "  only 
I  was  so  surprised.  I  thought  you  would  all 
be  busy  to-day,  and  nobody  would  come.  I 
never  dreamed  that  I  should  be  made  Queen 
of  the  May  again.  How  kind  you  are,  dear 
Charlie  and  Winnie,  and  where  did  you  get 
the  flowers  —  real  May-flowers  I  Nobody  has 
begun  to  look  for  them  yet." 

"  They  came  out  on  purpose  for  you,"  per- 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  HI 

sisted  Charlie ;  and  the  May-buds  smiled  and 
nodded  approvingly  as  she  said  so. 

Next,  Winnie  opened  her  basket,  and  behold  ! 
a  cake,  with  white  icing,  and  in  the  middle  a 
pink  thing  meant  for  a  crown,  but  looking  more 
like  a  cuttle-fish,  because  of  the  icing's  having 
melted  a  little.  Mrs.  Boker  had  stayed  up  late 
the  night  before  to  bake  and  ice  this  May-day 
loaf.  She,  too,  loved  Blossom,  and  it  pleased 
her  that  Winnie  should  plan  for  the  enjoyment 
of  her  sick  friend. 

A  knife  was  brought,  and  slices  cut.  Blos- 
som lay  on  her  pillows,  nibbling  daintily,  as 
befits  a  Queen.  Her  subjects,  perched  on  the 
bed,  ate  with  the  appetite  of  commoners.  The 
sun  struggled  out,  and,  in  spite  of  the  east  wind, 
sent  a  broad  yellow  ray  into  the  window.  Blos- 
som's May-wreath  made  the  air  delicious  ;  there 
could  not  have  been  found  a  merrier  party. 

"  Please,  dear  Duchess,  take  off  my  crown 
for  a  minute,"  said  Blossom,  with  a  pretty  air  of 
command. 


112  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

The  Duchess,  otherwise  Charlie,  obeyed,  and 
laid  the  wreath  on  the  coverlet  just  under  the 
royal  nose. 

"  How  lovely,  lovely,  lovely  it  is  !  "  said  Blos- 
som, with  a  long  sigh  of  delight. 

"  The  sun  is  streaming  exactly  into  your  eyes, 
dear,"  said  her  mother. 

She  opened  the  window  to  close  the  shutter. 
A  sharp,  sudden  gust  of  wind  blew  in,  and 
mamma  pulled  the  sash  down  quickly  lest  Blos- 
som should  be  chilled.  Nobody  noticed  that 
one  of  the  May-flowers,  as  if  watching  its 
chance,  detached  itself  from  the  wreath,  and 
flew  out  of  window  on  the  back  of  the  interlop- 
ing wind.  But  it  did. 

The  wind  evidently  knew  what  was  expected 
of  it,  for  it  bore  the  May-flower  along  to  the 
woods,  and  laid  it  on  the  brown  earth  in  a  cer- 
tain sunny  spot.  Then,  like  a  horse  released 
from  rider,  it  pranced  away,  while  the  flower, 
putting  her  pink  lips  to  the  ground,  called  in  a 
tiny  voice,  — 


QUEEN  BLOSSOM.  113 

"  Hepatica — Hepsy  dear,  are  you  there  ?" 

"Yes;  wliat  is  it?"  came  back  an  answering 
voice,  which  sounded  very  close.  It  was  the 
voice  of  the  lilac  hepatica.  She  and  her  com- 
panions were  much  nearer  the  surface  than  they 
had  been  two  days  before. 

"  It  has  all  gone  off  so  nicely,"  went  on  the 
May-blossom.  "  We  were  there  in  time,  and  I 
must  say  I  never  saw  nicer  children  than  that 
Winnie  and  Charlie.  They  picked  us  so  gently 
that  it  scarcely  hurt  at  all.  As  for  Blossom, 
she's  a  little  dear.  Her  eyes  loved  us,  and 
how  tenderly  she  handled  our  stems.  I  really 
wanted  to  stay  with  her,  only  I  had  such  a 
good  chance  to  go,  and  I  thought  you  would 
all  want  to  hear.  It  was  the  nicest  May-day 
party  I  ever  saw." 

"  More  —  tell  us  more,"  said  the  underground 
flowers. 

"  There  is  no  more  to  tell,"  replied  the  May- 
flower, faintly.  "It  is  cold  out  here,  and  I  am 

growing  sleepy.     Good-night." 

8 


114  QUEEN  BLOSSOM. 

After  that  there  was  silence  in  the  woods. 

Winnie  and  Charlie  never  knew  how  the 
dear  little  flower-people  had  conspired  to 
make  their  May-day  happy.  Perhaps  Blossom 
guessed,  for  when  she  laid  aside  her  wreath 
that  night  she  kissed  the  soft  petals,  which 
had  begun  to  droop  a  little,  and  whispered 
gently,— 

"  Thank  you,  darlings." 


A    SMALL    BEGINNING. 


LITTLE  ground-floor  room,  a  little 
fire  in  a  small  stove,  burning  dully 
as  fires  are  apt  to  do  at  times  when 
their  blaze  might  be  worth  something  in  the 
way  of  cheer ;  out  doors  the  raw  gray  of  a 
spring  thaw ;  on  the  window-seat  two  girls 
crouched  together  and  looking  out  with  faces 
as  disconsolate  as  the  weather.  Such  was  the 
picture  presented  at  No.  13  Farewell  Street, 
three  years  ago  last  March. 

Farewell  Street  was  so  named  because  of 
its  being  the  customary  route  of  exit  from  the 
old  cemetery,  the  point  where  mourners  were 
supposed  to  turn  for  a  last  look  at  the  gates 
which  had  just  shut  in  the  newly  buried  friend ; 
and  this  association,  as  well  as  the  glimpse  of 


116  A   SMALL  BEGINNING. 

tall  cemetery  fence,  topped  with  mournful  ever- 
greens which  bounded  the  view,  did  not  tend 
to  make  the  sad  outlook  any  the  less  sad  on 
that  dismal  day.  For  it  was  only  a  fortnight 
since  Delia  and  Hetty  Willett,  the  girls  on  the 
window-seat,  had  left  within  those  gates  the 
kind  old  grandmother  who  for  years  had  stood 
to  them  in  the  stead  of  father  and  mother 
both. 

"  The  Willetts,"  as  the  neighbors  called  them, 
using  the  collective  phrase  always,  were  twins, 
and  just  eighteen  years  old.  Bearing  to  each 
other  even  a  stronger  personal  likeness  than 
twins  customarily  possess,  tney  were  in  other 
points  curiously  unlike.  Delia  was  soft  and 
clinging,  Hetty  vigorous  and  self-reliant. 
Delia  loved  to  be  guided,  Hetty  to  guide ;  the 
former  had  few  independent  views  and  opinions, 
the  latter  was  brimful  of  ideas  and  fancies, 
plans  and  purposes,  some  crude,  some  foolish, 
but  all  her  own.  Yet,  oddly  enough,  it  was 
Delia,  very  often,  who  gave  the  casting  vote  in 


A   SMALL  BEGINNING. 

tlieir  decisions,  for  Hetty's  love  for  her  slen- 
der twin  was  a  sentiment  so  deep  and  intense 
that  she  often  yielded  against  her  own  better 
sense  and  judgment,  simply  for  the  pleasure 
of  yielding  to  what  Delia  wished.  Delia  in 
return  adored  her  sister,  waited  on  her,  petted, 
consoled,  "  exactly  as  if  she  were  Hetty's  wife," 
Aunt  Polly  said,  "and  the  worst  was  they 
suited  each  other  so  well  that  no  one  else 
would  ever  suit  either  of  them,  and  they  were 
bound  to  die  old  maids  in  consequence  !  " 

But  eighteen  can  laugh  at  such  auguries,  and 
there  was  no  thought  or  question  of  marriage 
in  the  minds  of  the  sisters  as  they  crouched 
that  afternoon  close  together  on  the  old  win- 
dow-seat. 

A  very  different  question  absorbed  them, 
and  a  perplexing  one ;  how  they  were  to  live, 
namely,  and  to  keep  together  while  doing 
so,  which  meant  pretty  much  the  same  thing 
to  them  both.  Grandmother's  death  had  left 
them  with  so  very,  very  little.  Her  annuity 


118  A   SMALL  BEGINNING. 

died  with  her.  There  was  the  old  house,  the 
plain,  worn  furniture  to  which  they  had  been 
accustomed  all  their  lives,  and  about  a  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year  I  What  could  they  do  with 
that? 

"If  one  of  us  only  happened  to  be  clever," 
sighed  Delia.  "If  I  could  paint  pictures,  or 
you  had  a  talent  for  writing,  how  easy  it 
would  be ! " 

"  I  don't  know  as  to  that,"  responded  Hetty. 
"  Seems  to  me  I  've  heard  of  people  who  did 
those  things,  and  yet  did  n't  find  it  so  mighty 
easy  to  get  along.  Somebody 's  got  to  buy  the 
pictures  after  they  're  painted,  you  know,  and 
read  the  books,  and  pay  for  them."  She  spoke 
in  an  absent  tone,  and  her  brow  was  knitted 
into  the  little  frown  which  Delia  knew  betok- 
ened that  her  twin  was  puzzling  hard  over 
something. 

"  Don't  scowl,  it  '11  spoil  your  forehead,"  she 
said,  smoothing  out  the  objectionable  frown 
with  her  fingers. 


A   SMALL  BEGINNING.  H9 

"  Was  I  scowling-  ?  Well,  never  mind.  I  'm 
trying  to  think,  Dely.  You  can't  paint  and 
I  can't  write.  The  question  is,  What  can  we 
do?" 

"  That  is  a  question,"  said  a  voice  at  the 
door.  It  was  Aunt  Polly's  voice.  She  man- 
aged on  most  days  to  drop  in  and  "  give  a  look 
to  them,  the  x  lonely  little  creeturs,"  as  she 
would  have  expressed  it. 

"  You  're  consulting  I  see,"  she  said,  taking  in 
the  situation  at  a  glance  :  the  dismal  room,  the 
depressive  and  tearful  cheeks  of  the  two  girls, 
the  lack  of  comfort  and  cheer.  She  twitched 
open  the  stove  door  as  she  passed,  threw  in  a 
stick  of  wood,  twirled  the  damper,  and  gave 
a  brisk,  rattling  shake  to  the  ashes,  —  all  with 
a  turn  of  her  hand  as  it  were,  —  attentions  to 
which  the  stove  presently  responded  with  a 
brisk  roar.  "Well,  it's  time  you  did.  I  was 
planning  to  have  a  talk  with  you  before  long, 
for  you  ought  to  settle  to  something.  Pull  the 
blind  down,  Dely,  and,  Hetty,  you  light  the 


120  A   SMALL  BEGINNING. 

lamp,  and  come  to  the  fire,  both  of  you,  and 
let 's  see  what  we  can  make  of  it.  It 's  a 
tangled  skein  enough,  I  don't  deny  it ;  but 
most  skeins  are  that,  and  there 's  always  a 
right  end  somewhere,  if  the  Lord '11  give  us 
sense  enough  to  get  hold  of  it  and  keep  on 
pulling  out  and  winding  up." 

Presently  the  girls  were  seated  close  to 
Aunt  Polly's  rocking-chair.  The  room  looked 
more  cheerful  now  with  the  lamplight  and  the 
yellow  glow  from  the  stove,  and  both  were 
conscious  of  a  sense  of  hopefulness. 

"Now  —  what  can  you  do?"  demanded 
Aunt  Polly,  whirling  round  in  her  chair  so  as 
to  face  them. 

"  We  hadn't  got  so  far  as  that  when  you 
came  in,"  replied  Hetty  ;  "  I  suppose  we  must 
do  what  other  people  do  in  the  same  circum- 
stances." 

"What's  that?" 

• 

"  Teach  something,  or  sew,  I  suppose." 

"  Sewing  's  slow  starvation,  in   my  opinion, 


A   SMALL  BEGINNING.  121 

unless  you've  got  a  machine,  which  you  have 
11%  and  not  much  better  then.  What  do  you 
know  that  you  can  teach  ?  " 

"Not  much,"  replied  Hetty,  humbly,  while 
Delia  added  hesitatingly,  "  We  could  teach 
children  their  letters,  perhaps." 

"I  presume  you  could,"  responded  Aunt 
Polly,  dryly.  "But,  though  you  mayn't  know 
it,  perhaps,  there  are  about  fifty  women  in  this 
town  can  do  the  same,  and  who  mean  to  do  it, 
what 's  more.  And  most  of  'em  have  got  the  start 
of  you  in  one  way  or  another,  so  what 's  your 
chance  worth  ?  No,  girls,  sewing  and  teaching  are 
played  out.  They  are  good  things  in  their  way, 
but  every  woman  who 's  got  her  living  to  earn 
thinks  of  them  the  very  first  thing  and  of  noth- 
ing else,  and  the  market  is  always  overstocked. 
My  advice  to  you  is,  to  think  up  something  you 
can  do  better  than  other  people  —  that 's  what  gives 
folks  a  real  chance  !  Now,  what  is  there  I " 

"There  isn't  anything  I  can  do  better  than 
other  people,"  cried  the  dismayed  Delia.  "  Nor 


122  A   SMALL  BEGINNING. 

Hetty  either  —  except  make  gingerbread,"  she 
added,  with  a  faint  little  laugh.  "  Hetty  beats 
everybody  at  that,  grandmother  always  said." 

"  Very  well ;  make  gingerbread  then.  That 's 
your  thing  to  do,"  said  Aunt  Polly. 

Hetty  looked  at  her  with  incredulous  eyes. 

"  You  're  not  in  earnest,  are  you?"  she  said. 

"  I  am.     In  dead  earnest." 

"  But,  Aunt  Polly,  gingerbread  !  Such  a  little 
thing  as  that !  Who  ever  heard  of  a  girl's 
doing  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  All  the  better  if  they  never  did.  A  new 
trade  has  a  double  chance.  As  for  the  i  little/ 
great  things  often  come  from  small  beginnings. 
Fortunes  have  been  made  out  of  gingerbread 
before  now,  I  '11  be  bound,  or  if  not  that,  out  of 
something  no  bigger.  No,  Hetty,  depend  upon 
it,  if  your  gingerbread  is  lest,  folks  will  want  it. 
Arid  if  your  teaching  or  sewing  is  only  second 
best,  they  won't.  It 's  the  law  of  human  nature, 
and  a  very  good  law,  too,  though  it  cuts  the 
wrong  way  sometimes,  like  all  laws." 


A   SMALL  BEGINNING.  123 

"  Aunt  Polly,  you  're  a  genius  !  "  cried  Hetty, 
warmed  into  sudden  glow  by  tins  vigorous  com- 
mon sense.  "  I  can  make  good  gingerbread, 
and  it 's  just  as  you  say,  neither  of  us  know 
enough  to  teach  well,  and  we  are  both  poor 
hands  at  sewing,  and  we  should  have  a  much 
better  chance  if  we  tried  to  do  what  we  can 
and  not  what  we  can't.  Why  should  n't  I  make 
gingerbread  ?  Dely  'd  help  me,  and  if  folks 
liked  our  things  and  bought  them,  we  could 
live  and  keep  together.  We  could  make  a  kind 
of  shop  of  this  room,  could  n't  we  ?  What  do 
you  think  I " 

"'Tisn't  a  bad  place  for  such  a  trade,"  said 
Aunt  Polly,  slowly,  measuring  the  room  with 
her  eyes.  "  Being  on  a  corner  is  an  advan- 
tage, you  see;  and  there's  that  double  win- 
der on  the  street  gives  a  first-rate  chance  to 
show  what  you've  got  to  sell.  I  never  did  see 
no  use  in  that  winder  before.  My  father,  he 
had  it  cut  for  a  kind  of  a  whim  like,  and  we  all 
thought  it  was  notional  in  him ;  but,  as  they 


124  A   SMALL  BEGINNING. 

say,  keep  a  thing  long  enough  and  a  use  '11  turn 
up.  It's  a  sort  of  a  gain  for  you,  too,  having 
the  house  so  old-fashioned.  Folks  has  a  han- 
kering for  such  things,  nowadays  —  the  Lord 
knows  why.  I  hear  'em  going  on  about  it 
when  I  'm  out  tailoring  calling  ugly  things 
*  quaint,'  and  lovely,  because  they  're  old.  Het- 
ty,"—  with  sudden  inspiration, —  "  here  's  an 
idea  for  you,  be  '  quaint' !  Don't  try  for  a  shop, 
keep  the  room  a  room,  and  make  it  as  old- 
fashioned-looking  as  you  can,  and  I  '11  bet  a 
cookie  that  your  gingerbread  '11  be  twice  as 
popular  with  one  set  of  folks,  and  if  it 's  first- 
rate  gingerbread,  the  other  set  who  don't  care 
for  old  things  will  like  it  just  as  well." 

What  a  bracing  thing  is  a  word  in  season  ! 
Aunt  Polly's  little  seed  of  suggestion  grew  and 
spread  like  Jack's  fabled  bean-stalk. 

"  Your  light  biscuits  always  turn  out  well," 
said  Delia. 

"And  my  snaps.  Grandmother  liked  them 
so  much.  And  you're  a  good  hand  at  loaf 


A   SMALL  BEGINNING.  125 

bread,  you  know.  Aunt  Polly  —  I  seem  to 
smell  a  fortune  in  the  air.  We  will  begin  at 
once,  just  as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  half-barrel  of 
flour  and  put  an  advertisement  in  the  paper." 

Hetty  had  a  ready  wit,  and  Aunt  Polly's 
hint  as  to  "  quaintness  "  was  not  lost  upon  her. 
The  advertisement  when  it  appeared  the  next 
day  but  one  ran  thus :  — 

"  After  Monday  next,  the  Old-Time  Bakery, 
corner  of  Farewell  and  Martin  Streets,  will  be 
prepared  to  furnish,  to  order,  fresh  bread,  buns, 
biscuits,  and  grandmother's  gingerbread,  all 
home-made." 

People  smiled  over  the  little  notice,  but  the 
odd  wording  stuck  in  their  memories  as  odd 
things  will,  and  more  than  one  person  went  out 
of  his  way  during  the  next  week  to  take  a  look 
into  the  wide,  low  window,  within  which,  on  a 
broad,  napkin-covered  shelf,  stood  rows  of  bis- 
cuits, light  and  white,  buns,  each  glazed  with 
shining  umber-brown,  and  loaves  of  ginger- 
bread whose  complexion  and  smell  were  enough 


126  A    SMALL  BEGINNING. 

to  vouch  for  their  excellence.  Acting  on  Aunt 
Polly's  suggestion,  Hetty  had  set  forth  her 
wares  on  plates  of  the  oldest  and  oddest  pattern 
which  could  be  found  in  grandmother's  closet. 
A  queer,  tall  pitcher  flanked  them  on  either 
side,  and  round  the  window-frame  she  had 
twined  the  long,  luxuriant  shoots  of  a  potted 
ivy.  Altogether  the  effect  was  pretty,  and  no 
one  need  be  told  that  the  pitchers  had  for  years 
been  consecrated  to  the  reception  of  yeast  and 
corks,  or  that  the  plates  had  long  since  been 
relegated  to  kitchen  use  as  too  shabby  for 
better  occasions. 

"  Hain't  ye  no  white  chany  ?  "  inquired  their 
first  customer,  an  old  woman,  as  she  slowly 
counted  out  the  pennies  for  half  a  dozen  biscuit. 
"  It  would  kind  of  set  your  cakes  off." 

"  We  used  what  we  had,"  replied  Hetty, 
diplomatically.  "  But  I  hope  your  biscuits  '11 
taste  just  as  good  as  if  they  came  off  a  white 
plate." 

This  old  woman,  two  others,  and  a  little  boy 
were  the  only  customers  that  first  day. 


A    SMALL   BEGINNING.  127 

"  "Tis  n't  a  bit  a  good  beginning-,"  declared 
Delia,  pouring  the  money  received  out  of  an 
old-fashioned  china  tea-caddy  which  Hetty  had 
unearthed  in  an  up-stairs  closet  and  brought 
down  to  serve  as  a  till.  a  Two  dozen  biscuits, 
that 's  twenty-four  cents,  a  loaf  of  gingerbread, 
and  about  half  the  buns.  That 's  fifty-three 
cents  in  all.  What  did  you  say  the  materials 
cost?" 

"  About  seventy  cents.  But  then  we  have 
our  supper  and  breakfast  out  of  them,  and 
nearly  half  the  stock  to  sell  at  a  reduced  rate 
to-morrow.  We  shan't  lose  anything,  I  reckon, 
but  we  shan't  gain  much  either." 

"  Rome  was  n't  built  all  in  a  minute.  You  '11 
do  yet,"  remarked  Aunt  Polly,  who  had  dropped 
in  to  hear  the  result  of  the  first  day's  sales. 

But  two  days  —  three  —  a  week,  went  by, 
and  still  trade  did  not  materially  improve,  and 
it  took  all  Aunt  Polly's  wise  saws  and  hopeful 
auguries  to  keep  their  spirits  up.  Each  day 
showed  the  same  record,  no  loss,  but  almost 


128  A    SMALL  BEGINNING. 

no  gain.  Toward  the  end  of  the  second  week 
matters  mended.  Mrs.  Corliss,  the  wife  of  a 
wealthy  manufacturer,  having  an  errand  in 
Farewell  Street,  happened  to  pass  the  little 
window,  and  her  bric-a-brac-loving  eyes  were 
caught  at  once  by  its  unusual  appearance. 
She  stopped,  studied  the  whole  arrangement 
from  the  ivy  wreath  to  the  old  pitchers;  a 
recollection  of  the  droll  little  advertisement  over 
which  she  had  laughed  a  few  days  previously, 
came  over  her.  "  I  declare,  this  is  the  very 
place,"  she  said  to  herself;  and  opening  the 
door  she  entered,  precisely  as  Hetty  came  from 
the  kitchen  through  the  opposite  door,  a  hand- 
kerchief tied  over  her  shiny  hair,  a  white  apron 
with  a  little  ruffled  waist  protecting  her  print 
gown,  her  cheeks  flushed  rosy  pink  with  heat, 
and  in  her  hands  a  tray  full  of  crisp,  delectably 
smelling  ginger-snaps. 

"A  real  study  —  like  a  Flemish  picture," 
Mrs.  Corliss  said  afterward.  She  fell  in  love 
at  once  witli  the  quaint  room,  the  pretty  sisters, 


A   SMALL  BEGINNING.  129 

the  old  china,  stayed  twenty  minutes  nibbling 
ginger-snaps  and  looking  about  her,  bought  a 
dollar's  worth  of  everything,  "  on  trial,"  as  she 
said,  and  swept  out,  leaving  a  wake  of  rose- 
colored  hope  in  the  air  —  and  Delia  and  Hetty 
executing  a  wild  waltz  behind  her  back,  for  joy 
and  gratulation. 

"Luck  has  turned  —  I  know,  I  feel  it," 
declared  Hetty. 

Luck  had  turned.  Mrs.  Corliss  raved  to 
everybody  she  knew  about  the  room,  the  twin- 
sisters,  and  the  excellence  of  the  gingerbread. 
It  became  a  fashion  to  go  to  Farewell  Street 
for  buns  and  biscuits.  Hetty  and  Delia  had 
to  work  early  and  late  to  fill  their  orders,  but 
what  was  that  "  to  sewing  their  fingers  off  for  a 
bare  living  "  ?  Hetty  said  ;  and  toil  was  sweet- 
ened now  by  a  gradually  increasing  profit. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  six  months  they  had 
not  only  "  lived  and  kept  together,"  but  had 
a  little  sum  laid  by,  which,  as  Aunt  Polly 
advised,  was  treated  as  "  business  capital,"  part 

9 


130  A   SMALL  BEGINNING. 

of  it  being  invested  in  the  purchase  of  an 
awning  for  the  window  and  an  extra  stove  to 
increase  their  baking  capacity.  Very  rarely 
were  there  any  stale  things  left  now  to  be  sold 
next  day  at  half-price,  the  regular  orders  and 
chance  custom  consuming  all. 

"  We  shall  have  to  hire  a  boy  to  carry  things 
round,  I  actually  believe,"  declared  Hetty. 
"  Mrs.  Malcomb  and  Mrs.  Sayres  both  said 
that  they  would  order  our  bread  regularly  if 
we  could  send  it  home." 

"  I  Ve  been  expecting  that  would  be  the  next 
step,"  remarked  Aunt  Polly,  "  and  I  guess  I  Ve 
got  just  the  boy  you  want,  in  my  eye.  It 's 
Widow  McCullen's  lad  —  Sandy,  as  they  call 
him.  He 's  a  good  little  chap,  and  it  '11  be  a 
real  help  to  his  mother  to  have  him  earning 
a  trifle." 

So  Sandy  McCullen  was  regularly  engaged 
as  "  bread-boy,"  and  business  grew  brisker 
Btill. 

"Aunt  Polly,  we've  got  to  another  notch," 


A   SMALL  BEGINNING.  131 

said  Hetty,  at  the  end  of  the  first  year.  "You 
don't  happen  to  know  of  a  girl,  do  you,  who 
could  help  us  in  the  baking  I  Delia  and  I 
can't  keep  up  with  the  orders.  She  gets  so 
tired  every  now  and  then  that  she  can't  sleep, 
and  that  worries  me  so  that  I  lie  awake,  too." 

"  That'll  never  answer;  no,  I  don't  know  of 
any  girl,  but  there 's  a  nice  kind  of  an  oldish 
woman,  if  she  '11  do,  that  I  'd  like  to  recommend. 
Yes  —  I  mean  myself,"  she  went  on,  chuck- 
ling at  Hetty's  amazed  look.  "  It 's  come  to 
me  more  than  once  lately  that  it  'd  be  sort  of 
good  and  restful  to  make  a  change,  and  not 
go  on  tailorin'  forever,  all  the  rest  of  my  days. 
I  used  to  be  a  master  hand  at  bread  and  pie- 
crust, too,  when  I  was  your  age,  and  IVe  a 
little  saved  up  which  can  go  with  the  business 
if  it 's  needed ;  and,  if  you  girls  say  so,  we  '11 
just  make  a  kind  of  family  firm  of  the  thing. 
How  does  it  strike  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Polly,  the  very  thing,  only  it 
seems  too  good  to  be  true.  Do  you  really 


132  A    SMALL  BEGINNING. 

mean  it !  We  did  so  hate  the  idea  of  a  raw  girl 
to  whom  we  should  have  to  teach  everything, 
and  who  would  spoil  half  she  made  for  the  first 
month,  and  I've  fought  it  off  as  long  as  I  could. 
Why,  it  will  be  like  having  grandmother  come 
back,  to  have  you  living  with  us.  There 's  the 
west  room  all  ready.  Dear  me  !  How  delight- 
fully things  seem  to  turn  out  for  us  always ! " 

"  That  was  n't  your  view  always,  it  seems  to 
me,"  rejoined  Aunt  Polly.  "A  year  ago  you 
was  pretty  down  in  the  mouth,  if  I  don't  mis- 
take. Gingerbread  is  good  for  something,  you 


see." 


"  The  Old-Time  Bakery "  still  goes  on  in 
Farewell  Street,  but  it  has  grown  far  beyond  its 
original  proportions.  If  you  were  to  visit  it  to- 
day you  would  find  a  room  double  the  size  of 
the  former,  and  which  has  been  made  by  taking 
down  a  partition  wall  between  the  sitting-room 
and  a  spare  bedroom  and  throwing  them  into 
one.  There  are  two  windows  on  the  street 
now,  one  full  of  bread,  biscuits,  and  buns,  the 


A    SMALL   BEGINNING.  133 

other  stored  with  Hetty's  now  famous  ginger- 
bread, and  with  delicious-looking  pumpkin-pies 
and  apple-tarts  with  old-fashioned  flaky  crust, 
which  are  Aunt  Polly's  specialty  and  have 
added  greatly  to  the  reputation  of  the  estab- 
lishment. Still  it  is  not  a  shop.  Hetty,  with 
wary  good  taste,  has  scrupulously  preserved 
the  "quaint"  look  which  first  gave  character 
to  the  little  enterprise,  and  by  judicious  rum- 
maging in  neighbors7  garrets  has  acquired  sun- 
/ 

dry  old-time  chairs,  bottles,  jugs,  and  platters, 
which  help  in  the  effect.  Everything  is  scru- 
pulously clean  and  bright,  as  all  things  must  be 
where  Aunt  Polly  supervises ;  but  the  brightest 
things  in  the  room  are  the  faces  of  the  twin 
sisters.  They  have  tested  and  proved  their 
powers ;  they  know  now  what  they  can  do,  and 
they  taste  the  happiness  of  success. 

I  tell  their  little  story,  in  which  is  nothing 
remarkable  or  out  of  the  way,  for  the  sake  of 
other  girls,  who,  perhaps,  are  sitting  to-day 
with  folded  hands  and  puzzling  and  wondering, 


134  A    SMALL  BEGINNING. 

just  as  Hetty  and  Delia  did,  over  what  they  are 
to  do  and  how  to  set  about  it.  I  do  not  mean 
at  all  that  these  girls  should  all  make  ginger- 
bread—  that  indeed  would  be  "  overstocking 
the  market,"  as  Aunt  Polly  would  say,  but  only 
that  they  should  hearken  to  her  word  of  wis- 
dom, "  find  out  what  they  can  do  best,  and  do 
that,"  whatever  it  is,  secure  that  good  work, 
and  hearty  striving  will  win  some  measure  of 
success  soon  or  late,  even  if  its  beginnings  are 
small  and  insignificant  as  a  gingerbread  loaf  or 
a  batch  of  biscuit ! 


THE    SECRET    DOOR. 


NOWLE,  in  Kent,  is  an  ancient 
manor-house.  It  stands  knee-deep 
in  rich  garden  and  pasture  lands, 
with  hay-fields  and  apple-orchards  stretching 
beyond,  and  solemn  oak  woods  which  whisper 
and  shake  their  wise  heads  when  the  wind 
blows,  as  though  possessed  of  secrets  which 
must  not  be  spoken. 

Very  much  as  it  looks  to-day,  it  looked  two 
hundred  and  thirty  years  ago,  when  Charles 
the  First  was  king  of  England.  That  was  the 
Charles  who  had  his  head  cut  off,  you  may 
remember.  Blue  Christmas  smokes  curled  from 
the  twisted  chimneys  in  1645,  just  as  they  will 
this  year  if  the  world  lasts  so  long  as  December. 
The  same  dinnery  fragrance  filled  the  air,  for 


136  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

good  cheer  smells  pretty  much  alike  in  all  ages 
and  the  world  over.  A  few  changes  there  may 
be  —  thicker  trees,  beds  of  gay  flowers  which 
were  not  known  in  that  day  ;  and  where  once 
the  moat  —  a  ditch-like  stream  of  green  water 
covered  with  weeds  and  scum  —  ran  round  the 
walls,  is  now  a  trimly  cut  border  of  verdant 
turf.  But  these  changes  are  improvements,  and 
in  all  important  respects  the  house  keeps  its 
old  look,  undisturbed  by  modern  times  and 
ways. 

In  the  same  nursery  where  modern  boys  and 
girls  eat,  sleep,  and  learn  their  A,  B,  C  to-day, 
two  children  lived,  — little  Ralph  Tresham  and 
his  sister  Henrietta.  Quaint,  old-fashioned  crea- 
tures they  would  look  to  us  now  ;  but,  in  spite  of 
their  formal  dresses  and  speech,  they  were  bright 
and  merry  and  happy  as  any  children  you  can 
find  among  your  acquaintances.  Ralph's  name 
was  pronounced  "  Rafe,"  and  he  always  called 
his  sister  "  Hexie." 

Christmas  did  not  come  to  Knowle  in   its 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  137 

usual  bright  shape  in  1645.  Gloom  and  sad- 
ness and  anxiety  overshadowed  the  house  ;  and 
though  the  little  ones  did  not  understand  what 
the  cause  of  the  anxiety  was,  they  felt  some- 
thing wrong,  and  went  about  quietly  whis- 
pering to  each  other  in  corners,  instead  of 
whooping  and  laughing,  as  had  been  their 
wont.  They  had  eaten  their  Christmas  beef, 
and  toasted  the  king  in  a  thimbleful  of  wine,  as 
usual,  but  their  mother  cried  when  they  did  so ; 
and  Joyce,  the  old  butler,  had  carried  off  the 
pudding  with  a  face  like  a  funeral.  So  after 
dinner  they  crept  away  to  the  nursery,  and 
there,  by  the  window,  began  a  long  whisper- 
ing talk.  Hexie  had  something  very  exciting 
to  tell. 

"  Nurse  thought  I  was  asleep,"  she  said,  "  but 
I  was  n't  quite  ;  and  when  they  began  to  talk  I 
woke  up.  That  wasn't  wrong,  was  it,  Rafel 
I  could  n't  sleep  when  I  could  n't,  could  II" 

"  I  suppose  not ;  but  you  need  n't  have 
listened,"  said  Rafe,  whose  notions  about  honor 
were  ver^  strict. 


138  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

"I  did  pull  the  pillow  over  my  ear,  but  the 
words  would  get  in,"  went  on  Henrietta,  pite- 
ously.  "  And  it  was  so  interesting.  Did  you 
know  that  there  were  such  creatures  as  Bogies, 
Rafe  ?  Dorothy  thinks  we  have  got  one  in  our 
house,  and  that  its  hole  is  in  the  great  gallery, 
because  once  when  she  was  there  dusting  the 
armor,  she  heard  a  queer  noise  in  the  wall,  and 
what  else  could  it  be?  It  eats  a  great  deal, 
does  the  Bogie.  That 's  the  reason  nurse  is  sure 
we  have  got  one.  It  ate  all  the  cold  sheep's- 
head  yesterday,  and  the  day  before  half  the 
big  pasty.  No  victual  is  safe  in  the  larder, 
the  Bogie  has  such  a  big  appetite,  nurse 
says.'* 

"  I  remember  about  the  sheep's-head,"  said 
Rafe,  meditatively.  "  Almost  all  of  it  was  left, 
and  I  looked  to  see  it  come  in  cold;  but  when 
I  asked,  Joyce  said  there  was  none.  Cold 
sheep's-head  is  very  good.  Do  you  remember 
how  much  Humphrey  used  to  like  it  ?  " 

"I  don't  remember  exactly,  it  is  so  long  ago," 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  139 

replied  Hexie.     "How  long  is  it,  brother t- 
since   Humphrey  went  away,  I  mean.     Won't 
he   ever   come   back  ?  " 

"  I  asked  Winifred  once,  but  she  only  said, 
'  God  knew,'  that  nothing  had  been  heard  of 
him  since  the  battle  when  the  king  was  taken. 
He  might  be  dead,  or  he  might  be  escaped  into 
foreign  parts  —  and  then  she  cried,  oh,  so  hard, 
Hexie  !  Poor  Humphrey  !  I  hope  he  is  n't 
dead.  But,  about  the  Bogie,  how  curious  it 
must  be  to  meet  one  !  Oh,  I  say,  let  us  go  to 
the  gallery  now,  and  listen  if  we  can  hear  any 
strange  noises  there.  Will  you  ? " 

" Oh,  Rafe  !  I 'm  afraid.    I  don't  quite  like—" 

"But  you  can't  be  afraid  if  I'm  there,"  said 
Eafe,  valiantly;  "besides,  I'll  put  on  Hum- 
phrey's old  sword  which  he  left  behind.  Then 
if  the  Bogie  comes  —  we  shall  see  !  " 

Rafe  spoke  like  a  conquering  hero,  Hexie 
thought ;  so,  though  she  trembled,  she  made  no 
further  objection,  but  stood  by  while  he  lifted 
down  the  sword,  helped  to  fasten  its  belt  over 


140  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

his  shoulder,  and  followed  along  the  passage 
which  led  to  the  gallery.  The  heavy  sword 
clattered  and  rattled  as  it  dragged  on  the  floor, 
and  the  sound  was  echoed  in  a  ghostly  way, 
which  renewed  Hexie's  fears. 

"  Rafe  !  Rafe !   let  us  go  back,"  she  cried. 

"  Go  back  yourself  if  you  are  afraid,"  re- 
plied Ralph,  stoutly ;  and  as  going  back  alone 
through  the  dim  passage  seemed  just  then 
worse  than  staying  where  she  was,  Hexie 
stayed  with  her  valiant  brother. 

Very  softly  they  unlatched  the  gallery  door, 
and  stole  in.  It  was  a  long,  lofty  apartment, 
panelled  with  cedar-wood,  to  which  time  had 
given  a  beautiful  light  brown  color.  The 
ceiling,  of  the  same  wood,  was  carved,  here 
and  there,  with  shields,  coats  of  arms,  and  other 
devices.  There  was  little  furniture:  one  tall 
cabinet,  a  few  high-backed  Dutch  chairs,  and 
some  portraits  hanging  on  the  walls.  The  sun, 
not  yet  quite  set,  poured  a  stream  of  red  light 
across  the  polished  floor,  leaving  the  far  corners. 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  141 

and  the  empty  spaces  formidably  dusk.  The 
children  had  seldom  been  in  the  gallery  at  this 
hour,  and  it  looked  to  them  almost  like  a 
strange  place,  not  at  all  as  it  did  at  noonday 
when  they  came  to  jump  up  and  down  the 
slippery  floor,  and  play  hide-and-seek  in  the 
comers  which  now  seemed  so  dark  and 
dismal. 

Even  Rafe  felt  the  difference,  and  shivered 
in  spite  of  his  bold  heart  and  the  big  sword  by 
his  side.  Timidly  they  went  forward,  hushing 
their  footsteps  and  peering  furtively  into  the 
shadows.  Suddenly  Hexie  stopped  with  a 
little  scream. 

Close  to  them  stood  a  huge  suit  of  armor, 
larger  and  taller  than  a  man.  The  empty  eye- 
holes of  the  helmet  glared  out  quite  like  real 
eyes,  and  the  whole  figure  was  terrible  enough 
to  frighten  any  little  girl.  But  it  was  not  at 
the  armor  that  Hexie  screamed ;  the  iron  man 
was  an  old  friend  of  the  children's.  Many  a 
game  of  hide-and-seek  had  they  played  around, 


142  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

and  behind,  and  even  inside  him ;  for  Hum- 
phrey had  contrived  a  cunning  way  by  which 
the  figure  could  be  taken  to  pieces  and  put 
together  again  ;  and  more  than  once  Rafe  had 
been  popped  inside,  and  had  lain  shaking  with 
laughter  while  Hexie  vainly  searched  for  him 
through  all  the  gallery.  This  had  not  happened 
lately,  for  Rafe  was  hardly  strong  enough  to 
manage  by  himself  the  screws  and  hinges 
which  opened  the  armor ;  but  he  knew  the  iron 
man  too  well  to  scream  at  him,  and  so  did 
Hexie.  The  object  which  excited  her  terror 
was  something  different,  and  so  strange  and 
surprising  that  it  is  no  wonder  she  screamed. 

Close  by  the  armor,  half  hidden  by  a  curtain 
of  heavy  tapestry,  was  an  open  door,  where 
never  door  had  been  known  to  be.  It  stood 
ajar,  and  dimly  visible  inside  was  a  narrow 
staircase  winding  upward. 

"The  hole  of  the  Bogie!"  gasped  Hexie, 
clutching  at  Rafe's  arm.  He  started,  and  felt 
for  the  sword.  It  rattled  fearfully,  and  the 


Close  by  the  armor,  half  hidden  by  a  curtain  of  heavy  tapestry,  was 
an  open  door.  —  PAGE  142. 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  143 

sound  completed  Hexie's  terror.  She  burst 
away,  flew  like  a  scared  lapwing  down  the 
gallery,  along  the  passages,  and  never  stopped 
till  she  reached  the  nursery  and  her  own  bed, 
where,  with  two  pillows  and  the  quilt  drawn 
over  her  head,  she  lay  sobbing  bitterly  at  the 
thought  of  Ralph  left  behind,  to  be  eaten  per- 
haps by  the  Bogie  !  Poor  little  Hexie  ! 

Ralph,  meanwhile,  stood  his  ground.  His 
heart  beat  very  fast,  but  he  would  not  run 
away,  —  that  was  for  girls.  It  must  be  owned, 
however,  that  when  a  moment  later  the  sound 
of  muffled  voices  became  audible  down  the 
stairs,  he  trembled  extremely,  and  was  guilty 
of  the  unmanlike  act  of  hiding  behind  the 
curtain.  He  was  only  ten  years  old,  which 
must  plead  his  excuse  with  bigger  boys  who 
are  confident  that  they  could  never,  under  any 
circumstances,  hide  themselves  or  be  afraid. 

The  voices  drew  nearer,  steps  sounded,  and 
two  figures  came  out  of  the  narrow  doorway. 
Could  there  be  two  Bogies  ?  No  wonder  they 


144  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

ate  so  much.  But  in  another  minute  all  thought 
of  Bogies  vanished  from  Ralph's  mind,  for  in 
one  of  the  figures  he  recognized  his  own  sister 
Winifred. 

Her  companion  was  a  man.  There  was 
something  familiar  in  his  form.  It  moved 
forward,  and  Ralph  jumped  so  that  the  big 
sword  rattled  again.  Bogie  number  two  was 
his  brother  Humphrey,  mourned  as  dead  ever 
since  the  summer  before,  when  so  many  brave 
gentlemen  gave  up  their  lives  for  King  Charles 
at  the  battle  of  Naseby. 

"  What  noise  was  that  ?  "  whispered  Winifred, 
fearfully. 

"  Some  sound  from  below,"  replied  Hum- 
phrey, after  listening  a  moment.  "  Must  you 
go,  Winnie  ? " 

"  I  must,  dear  Humphrey.  I  dare  not 
absent  myself  longer  lest  I  be  missed  and 
suspected.  Oh,  if  to-morrow  were  but  over, 
and  you  safe  on  the  French  lugger  and  over  the 
sea !  I  cannot  breathe  while  this  hiding  and 
danger  go  on." 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  145 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  glad  also,"  said 
Humphrey,  ruefully  ;  "  but  to  me  that  French 
lugger  means  exile,  and  loneliness,  and  poverty, 
for  the  rest  of  my  life,  perhaps.  Better  have 
laid  down  my  life  with  the  rest  at  Naseby,  in 
striking  one  last  blow  for  the  king." 

"  Don't,  don't  speak  so  !  "  protested  Winifred, 
tearfully.  "  You  are  alive,  thank  God ;  and 
once  these  wars  are  over  we  may  rejoin  you, 
and  have  a  happy  home  somewhere,  if  not  in 
the  land  of  our  fathers.  Now,  dear  Humphrey, 
have  you  all  you  need  for  the  night  ?  " 

"  Christmas  cheer,"  said  Humphrey,  in  a 
would-be  cheerful  voice.  "  Beef  and  ale,  — 
what  better  fare  could  be  I  You  are  a  gallant 
provider,  my  Winnie,  and  there  is  need,  for 
since  I  have  lain  in  that  hole  with  nothing  else 
to  do,  my  appetite  has  raged  like  'a  wolf.  That 
sheep's-head  was  wondrous  savory.  I  say 
though,  Winnie,  what  do  the  servants  think  of 
the  famine  I  create  in  the  larder  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  stupid  things  fancy  that  a  Bogie 


146  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

has  taken  up  his  residence  here.  A  very  hun- 
gry Bogie,  Joyce  calls  the  creature  ! " 

The  brother  and  sister  laughed ;  then  they 
kissed  each  other. 

"  Good-night,  dearest  Winifred." 

"  Good-night,  brother."  And  Humphrey 
vanished  up  the  stairs.  Winifred  lingered  a 
moment ;  then,  as  if  remembering  something, 
opened  the  door  again  and  ran  after  him. 
Ralph  marked  that  she  laid  her  hand  on  a 
particular  boss  in  the  carved  wainscot,  and 
pressed  it  in  hard,  whereon  the  door  sprang 
open.  He  stole  out,  laid  his  hand  on  the  same 
boss,  and  felt  the  spring  give  way  under  his 
touch.  Some  undefined  idea  of  stealing  in 
later,  to  make  Humphrey  a  visit,  was  in  his 
head ;  but  he  heard  Winifred  returning,  and 
harried  out  of  the  gallery.  Putting  back  the 
sword  in  its  place,  he  entered  the  nursery.  No 
Hexie  was  visible,  but  a  sobbing  sound  drew 
his  attention  to  a  tumbled  heap  on  the  bed 

"  Is  that  you,  Hexie  ?     Why,  what  are  you 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  147 

crying  about !  "  pulling  away  the  pillow,  which 
she  held  tight. 

"  Oh,  Rafe !  Then  the  Bogie  did  n't  eat 
you,  after  all ! "  And  Hexie  buried  her  tear- 
stained  face  in  his  shoulder. 

"  Bogie !  Nonsense !  There  are  no  such 
things  as  Bogies  !  " 

"  What  was  it,  then,  that  lived  up  that 
dreadful  stairs  f  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you ;  only  it  was  nothing  at  all 
dreadful.  And,  Hexie,  don't  say  a  word  about 
that  door  to  any  one,  will  you  ?  It  might 
make  great  trouble  if  you  did." 

"  I  did  tell  Deborah,  when  she  fetched  the 
candle  and  asked  why  I  cried,  that  I  saw  a 
strange  door  in  the  gallery,"  faltered  Hexie, 
truthful,  though  penitent. 

"  Oh  !  Hexie,  how  could  you  !  I  don't  like 
Deborah,  and  her  father  is  a  crop-eared  knave. 
Humphrey  said  so  one  day.  How  could  you 
talk  to  her  about  the  door,  Hexie  t  " 

"I — don't   know.     I   was    frightened,    and 


148  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

she  asked  me,"  sobbed  Hexie.  "  Will  it  do 
any  harm,  Rafe  ?  " 

"  It  may,"  said  Rafe,  gloomily.  "  But  don't 
cry,  Hexie.  You  meant  no  harm,  at  all 
events." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  so  gravely  and  so  like 
Joyce,"  said  Hexie,  much  troubled.  She  cried 
herself  to  sleep  that  night.  Deborah,  who 
undressed  her,  asked  many  questions  about  the 
gallery  and  the  door. 

"  It  was  very  dark,  and  perhaps  I  mistook," 
—  that  was  all  Hexie  could  be  made  to  say. 
Ralph  was  disturbed  and  wakeful,  and  slept 
later  than  usual  next  morning.  He  jumped 
up  in  a  hurry  and  made  what  haste  he  could 
with  dressing  and  breakfast,  but  it  seemed  as 
though  they  never  took  so  much  time  before ; 
and  all  the  while  he  ate  he  was  conscious  of  a 
stir  and  bustle  in  the  house,  which  excited  his 
curiosity  very  much.  Knocking  —  the  sound 
of  feet  —  something  unusual  was  going  on. 

As  soon  as  possible  he  slipped  away   from 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  149 

nurse  and  ran  to  the  gallery.  The  door  was 
half  open.  He  looked  in,  and  stood  still  with 
terror.  Men  in  brown  uniforms  and  steel  caps 
were  there  sounding  the  walls  and  tapping  the 
floor-boards  with  staves.  The  gallery  seemed 
full  of  them,  though  when  Eafe  counted  there 
were  but  five. 

"  This  man  of  iron  was,  in  all  likelihood,  a 
Malignant  also,"  he  heard  one  of  them  say, 
striking  the  armor  with  his  fist. 

"  He  is  somewhat  old  for  that.  Methinks 
that  is  armor  of  the  time  of  that  man  of  blood, 
Harry  the  Eighth.  Move  it  aside,  Jotham, 
that  we  may  search  the  farther  panel." 

So  the  heavy  figure  was  thrust  into  a  corner, 
and  the  men  went  on  tapping  with  their  wands. 
Rafe  groaned  within  himself  when  he  heard 
them  declare  that  the  wall  sounded  hollow,  and 
saw  them  searching  for  a  spring.  Twenty 
times  it  seemed  as  though  they  must  have 
lighted  on  the  right  place.  Twenty  times 
they  just  missed  it. 


150  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

"  We  were  ill  advised  to  come  without  tools," 
declared  the  man  who  seemed  leader  of  the 
party.  "  Come  thou  to  my  shop,  Peter  Kettle, 
and  thou,  Bartimeus  and  Zerubbabel,  and  we 
will  fetch  such  things  as  are  needful.  Jotham, 
stay  thou  here,  to  see  that  no  man  escapeth 
from  the  concealment  behind  the  wall." 

So  four  of  the  men  went  away,  leaving 
Jotham  striding  up  and  down  as  on  guard. 
Presently  came  a  shout  from  beneath  the 
window,  — 

"  Jotham  !  our  leader  hath  dropped  his  pouch 
in  which  are  the  keys  of  the  smithy.  Hasten 
and  bring  it  to  the  outer  door." 

"  Aye,  aye  !  "  answered  Jotham,  and,  pouch 
in  hand,  he  ran  down  the  stairs.  Now  was 
Rafe's  opportunity.  Like  a  flash  he  was  across 
the  gallery,  his  hand  on  the  boss.  The  door 
flew  open,  and  he  fell  into  the  arms  of  Hum- 
phrey, who,  sword  in  hand  and  teeth  set,  stood 
on  the  lower  step  of  the  staircase,  prepared  to 
sell  his  liberty  as  dearly  as  possible. 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  151 

"  Rafe  !  little  Rafe  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Hush  !  The  man  will  come  back,"  panted 
Rafe.  "  Come  away  — hide  —  oh,  where  ?  " 
Then  with  a  sudden  inspiration  he  dragged  his 
brother  toward  the  iron  man.  "  Get  inside,"  he 
cried.  "  They  will  never  think  of  searching 
there  !  Oh,  Humphrey  —  make  haste  !  Get 
inside  ! " 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  With  the 
speed  of  desperation,  Humphrey  unscrewed, 
lifted,  stepped  inside  the  armor.  Rafe  slipped 
the  fastenings  together,  whispered  "  Shut  your 
eyes,"  and  flew  back  to  his  hiding-place.  Just 
in  time,  for  Jotham's  step  was  on  the  stairy 
and  next  moment  he  entered  the  gallery,  and 
resumed  his  march  up  and  down,  little  dream- 
ing that  the  man  sought  for  was  peeping 
through  the  helmet  holes  at  him,  not  three  feet 
away. 

Presently  the  other  soldiers  came  back  with 
hammers  and  wrenches,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
beautiful  wainscot,  split  into  pieces,  lay  on  the 


152  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

floor.  Suddenly  there  was  a  shout.  The  secret 
door  had  flown  open,  and  the  staircase  stood 
revealed.  Four  of  the  men,  with  pikes  and 
pistols,  prepared  to  ascend,  while  the  fifth 
guarded  the  opening  below. 

At  that  moment  Winifred  entered  the  gal- 
lery from  the  farther  end.  She  turned  deadly 
pale  when  she  saw  the  open  door  and  the  men. 

"  Oh  !  Heaven  have  mercy  !  "  she  cried,  and 
dropped  half  fainting  into  a  chair. 

Eafe  darted  across  the  floor  and  seized  her 
hand. 

"  Hush,"  he  whispered.  "  Don't  say  a  word, 
sister.  He  is  safe.7' 

"  He  f     Who  ?  "  cried  the  amazed  Winifred. 

But  now  voices  sounded  from  above.  The 
men  were  coming  down.  Winifred  rallied 
her  courage,  rose,  and  went  forward.  She  was 
very  white  still,  but  she  spoke  in  a  steady  voice. 
Her  two  brothers,  Humphrey  in  his  hiding- 
place  and  little  Rafe  by  her  side,  both  admired 
her  greatly. 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  153 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Jotham 
Green?"  she  demanded.  "  By  what  warrant 
do  you  enter  and  spoil  our  house  ?  " 

"  By  the  warrant  which  all  true  men  have  to 
search  for  traitors,"  said  Jotham. 

"  You  will  find  none  such  here,"  responded 
Winifred,  firmly. 

"We  find  the  lurking-place  in  which  one  such 
has  doubtless  lain,"  said  Zerubbabel.  "  Where 
holes  exist,  look  out  for  vermin." 

"  You  are  less  than  civil,  neighbor.  An  old 
house  like  this  has  many  strange  nooks  and 
corners  of  which  the  inhabitants  may  have 
neither  use  nor  knowledge.  If  your  search  is 
done,  I  will  beg  you  to  make  good  the  damage 
you  have  caused  as  best  you  may,  and  with  as 
little  noise  as  possible,  that  my  mother  be  not 
alarmed.  Jotham  Green,  you  are  a  good  work- 
man, I  know.  I  recollect  how  deftly  you  once 
repaired  that  cabinet  for  us." 

All   the  men  knew  Winifred,  and  her  calm 
and  decided  manner  made  its  impression.     Jo- 


154  THE  SECRET  DOOR. 

tham  slowly  picked  up  the  fragments  of  the 
panelling  and  began  to  fit  them  together.  The 
rest  consulted,  and  at  last  rather  sheepishly,  and 
with  a  muttered  half  apology  about  "  wrong 
information,"  went  away,  taking  with  them  the 
injured  woodwork,  which  Jotham  undertook  to 
repair.  Rafe's  first  words  after  they  disappeared 
were,  — 

"  Winifred,  you  must  dismiss  Deborah.  It 
is  she  that  has  betrayed  us." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Rafe  ?  " 

Then  it  all  came  out.  Winifred  listened  to 
the  tale  with  streaming  tears. 

"  Oh,  Rafe,  my  darling,  how  brave  you  were! 
You  played  the  man  for  us  to-day,  and  have 
saved  —  I  trust  you  have  saved  —  our  Hum- 
phrey. The  men  will  not  return  to-day,  and 
to-night  the  lugger  sails." 

And  Humphrey  was  saved.  Before  morning, 
well  disguised,  he  had  made  his  way  across 
country  to  a  little  fishing-port,  embarked,  and 
reached  France  without  further  accident. 


THE  SECRET  DOOR.  lf)f) 

So  that  strange  Christmas  adventure  ended 
happily.  It  was  all  long,  long  ago.  Humphrey 
and  Winifred  and  Rafe  lived  their  lives  out, 
and  lay  down  to  rest  a  century  and  a  half  since 
under  the  daisy-sprinkled  English  sod.  Little 
Hexie  died  an  aged  woman,  before  any  of  us 
was  born.  But  still  the  beautiful  old  manor- 
house  stands  amid  its  gardens  and  pasture 
lands,  with  the  silvery  look  of  time  on  its  gray 
walls.  Still  the  armed  figure  keeps  guard  be- 
side the  secret  staircase,  the  tapestry  hangs  in 
the  old  heavy  folds,  evening  reddens  the  cedar 
walls  and  the  polished  floor,  and  everything 
occupies  the  same  place  and  wears  the  same 
look  that  it  did  when  little  Rafe  played  the 
man  in  that  gallery,  and  saved  his  brother 
Humphrey,  more  than  two  hundred  years  ago. 


THE    TWO    WISHES. 


IEROT  and  Pierotte  were  a  small 
brother  and  sister  who  were  always 
wishing  to  be  something  that  they 
were  not,  or  to  have  something  which  they  had 
not.  They  were  not  unhappy  or  discontented 
children,  —  far  from  it.  Their  home,  though 
poor,  was  comfortable ;  their  parents,  though 
strict,  were  kind :  they  were  used  to  both,  and 
desired  nothing  better.  Wishing  with  them 
was  a  habit,  an  idle  game  which  they  were  for- 
ever playing.  It  meant  little,  but  it  sounded 
ill ;  and  a  stranger,  listening,  would  have  judged 
them  less  well-off  and  cheerful  than  they  really 
were. 

"I  wish  I  needn't  wake  up,  but  might  lie 
still  all  day,"  was  Pierotte's  first  thought  every 


THE   TWO    WISHES.  IT) 7 

morning;  while  Pierot's  was,  " I  wish  Pierotte 
was  n't  such  a  sleepy-head,  for  then  we  could 
get  out  before  sunrise,  and  gather  every  mush- 
room in  the  meadow  while  the  Blaize  children 
are  still  snoring  in  their  beds."  Then  later,  at 
breakfast,  Pierotte  would  say,  "  I  wish  I  were 
the  Princess,  to  have  coffee  and  white  bread  for 
my  dejeuner,  instead  of  tiresome  porridge.  I 
am  tired  of  porridge.  White  bread  and  coffee 
must  be  better,  —  much  better  !  "  But  all  the 
time  she  spoke,  Pierotte's  spoon,  travelling  be- 
tween her  bowl  and  mouth,  conveyed  the 
"  tiresome  "  porridge  down  her  throat  as  rapidly 
as  though  it  were  the  finest  Mocha;  and 
Pierotte  enjoyed  it  as  much,  though  she  fan- 
cied that  she  did  not. 

"  I  wish  I  were  the  young  Comte  Jules," 
Pierot  would  next  begin  in  his  turn.  "  No 
fagots  to  bind,  no  cow  to  fodder,  no  sheep  to 
tend.  Ah !  a  fine  life  he  leads  !  Beautiful 
clothes,  nothing  to  do.  Six  meals  a  day,  two 
of  them  dinners,  a  horse  to  ride,  —  everything  ! 
I  wish  —  " 


158  THE    TWO    WISHES. 

"And  a  nice  yellow  skin  and  eyes  like 
boiled  gooseberries,"  chimed  in  his  mother. 
"  Better  wish  for  these  while  you  are  about  it. 
Much  you  know  of  noblemen  and  their  ways  ! 
Didst  ever  have  an  indigestion  I  Tell  me  that. 
When  thou  hast  tried  one,  wish  for  it  again,  if 
thou  canst." 

Then  Pierot  would  laugh  sheepishly,  shoul- 
der his  hatchet,  and  go  off  after  wood,  the 
inseparable  Pierotte  trotting  by  his  side.  As 
they  went,  it  would  be,  — 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  bird,"  or  "  I  wish  we  could 
jump  like  that  grasshopper ; "  or,  "  Pierotte,  I 
wish  our  godfather  had  left  us  his  money.  We 
should  be  rich  then." 

For  the  children  had  the  same  godfather. 
Pierotte  first,  and  then  Pierot  having  been 
named  after  their  father's  cousin,  a  well-to-do 
peasant,  who  it  was  expected  would  remember 
his  little  relatives  in  his  will.  This  hope  had 
been  disappointed,  and  the  children's  regrets 
were  natural  and  excusable,  since  even  the 


THE   TWO    WISHES.  159 

wise  dame,  their  mother,  did  not  conceal  her 
opinion  of  Cousin  Pierre's  conduct,  which  she 
considered  irregular  and  dishonest.  Children 
soon  learn  to  join  in  chorus  with  older  voices, 
and  Pierot  and  Pierotte,  in  this  case,  found  it 
particularly  easy,  as  it  chimed  with  the  habit 
of  their  lives. 

One  warm  July  morning  their  mother  roused 
them  for  an  early  breakfast,  and  sent  them  into 
the  forest  after  wood. 

"  My  last  fagot  is  in,"  she  said.  "  You  must 
bind  and  tie  smartly  to-day.  And,  Pierotte, 
help  thy  brother  all  that  thou  canst,  for  the 
father  cannot  spare  him  to  go  again  this  week, 
and  on  Saturday  is  the  sennight's  baking." 

So  they  set  forth.  The  sun  was  not  fairly 
risen,  but  his  light  went  before  his  coming,  and 
even  in  the  dim  forest-paths  it  was  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish leaf  from  flower.  Shadows  fell  across 
the  way  from  the  trees,  which  stood  so  motion- 
less that  they  seemed  still  asleep.  Heavy  dew 
hung  on  the  branches  ;  the  air  was  full  of  a  rare 


160  THE    TWO    WISHES. 

perfume,  made  up  of  many  different  fragrances, 
mixed  and  blended  by  the  cunning  fingers  of 
the  night.  A  little  later,  and  the  light  broad- 
ened. Rays  of  sun  filtered  through  the  boughs, 
a  wind  stirred,  and  the  trees  roused  themselves, 
each  with  a  little  shake  and  quiver.  Somehow, 
the  forest  looked  unfamiliar,  and  like  a  new 
place  to  the  children  that  morning.  They  were 
not  often  there  at  so  early  an  hour,  it  is  true, 
but  this  did  not  quite  account  for  the  strange 
aspect  of  the  woods.  Neither  of  them  knew, 
or,  if  they  knew,  they  had  forgotten,  that  it 
was  Midsummer's  Day,  the  fairies'  special  festi- 
val. Nothing  met  their  eyes,  no  whir  of  wings 
or  sparkle  of  bright  faces  from  under  the  fern- 
branches,  but  a  sense  of  something  unusual 
was  in  the  air,  and  the  little  brother  and  sister 
walked  along  in  silence,  peering  curiously  this 
way  and  that,  with  an  instinctive  expectation  of 
unseen  wonders. 

"  Is  n't   it   lovely  ?  "   whispered   Pierotte,  at 
last.    "  It  never  looked  so  pretty  here  as  it  does 


THE   TWO   WISHES.  161 

to-day.  See  that  wild-rose,  —  how  many  flow- 
ers it  has !  Oh !  what  was  that  ?  It  waved  at 
me!" 

"What  waved?" 

"  The  rose.     It  waved  a  white  arm  at  me  ! " 

"  Nonsense !  It  was  the  wind,"  replied 
Pierot,  sturdily,  leading  the  way  into  a  side- 
path  which  led  off  from  the  rose-bush. 

"  Is  it  much  farther  where  we  get  the  wood  ?  " 
asked  Pierotte,  for  the  children  had  been  walk- 
ing a  considerable  time. 

"  Father  said  we  were  to  go  to  the  hazel 
copse,"  answered  Pierot.  "  We  must  be  almost 
there." 

So  for  half  an  hour  longer  they  went  on  and 
on,  but  still  no  sign  of  fallen  trees  or  wood- 
choppers  appeared,  and  Pierot  was  forced  to 
confess  that  he  must  have  mistaken  the 
road. 

"It  is  queer,  too,"  he  said.  "  There  was 
that  big  red  toadstool  where  the  paths  joined. 

I  noticed  it  the  other  day  when  I  came  with 

ll 


162  THE    TWO    WISHES. 

the  father.  What  ?s  the  matter  ?  "  for  Pierotte 
had  given  a  sudden  jump. 

"  Some  one  laughed,"  said  Pierotte,  in  an 
awe-struck  tone. 

"  It  was  a  cricket  or  tree-toad.  Who  is  here 
to  laugh?" 

Pierotte  tried  hard  to  believe  him,  but  she 
did  not  feel  comfortable,  and  held  Pierot's 
sleeve  tight  as  they  went.  He  felt  the  trem- 
bling of  the  little  hand. 

"  Pierotte,  thou  art  a  goose  ! "  he  said ;  but 
all  the  same  he  put  his  arm  round  her  shoul- 
ders, which  comforted  her  so  that  she  walked 
less  timorously. 

One  path  after  another  they  tried,  but  none 
of  them  led  to  the  cleared  spot  where  the  fallen 
trees  lay.  The  sun  rose  high,  and  the  day 
grew  warmer,  but  in  the  forest  a  soft  breeze 
blew,  and  kept  them  cool.  Hour  after  hour 
passed  ;  the  children  had  walked  till  they  were 
tired.  They  rested  awhile,  ate  half  their  dinner 
of  curds  and  black  bread,  then  they  went  on 


THE    TWO    WISHES.  163 

again,  turned,  twisted,  tried  paths  to  right  and 
paths  to  left,  but  still  the  dense  woods  closed 
them  in,  and  they  had  no  idea  where  they  were 
or  how  they  should  go. 

Suddenly  the  track  they  were  following  led 
to  a  little  clearing,  in  which  stood  a  tiny  hut, 
with  a  fenced  garden  full  of  cherry-trees  and 
roses.  It  was  such  a  surprise  to  find  this  fertile 
and  blooming  spot  in  the  heart  of  the  wild  wood, 
that  the  children  stood  still  with  their  mouths 
open,  to  stare  at  it. 

"  How  strange ! "  gasped  Pierot,  when  at 
last  he  found  his  voice.  "  The  father  always 
said  that  ours  was  the  only  hut  till  you  got  to 
the  other  side  the  forest." 

"  Perhaps  this  is  the  other  side,"  suggested 
Pierotte. 

An  odd  chuckling  laugh  followed  this  remark, 
and  they  became  aware  of  an  old  woman  sitting 
at  the  window  of  the  cottage,  —  a  comical  old 
woman,  with  a  stiff  square  cap  on  her  head, 
sharp  twinkling  eyes,  and  a  long  hooked  nose. 
As  the  children  looked,  she  laughed  again,  and, 


164  THE    TWO    WISHES. 

extending  her  finger,  beckoned  them  to  come 
nearer. 

Timidly  they  obeyed,  setting  down  their  big 
wood-basket  at  the  gate.  The  old  woman 
leaned  over  the  window  to  await  them,  her 
hand  on  a  square  glass  jar  full  of  yellow  liquid, 
in  which  floated  what  seemed  to  be  a  pickled 
serpent  with  his  tail  in  three  coils,  and  the  tip 
in  his  mouth.  Pierotte  shuddered  at  the  ser- 
pent, but  Pierot  was  bolder. 

"  Did  you  want  us,  good  madam  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Want  you*?  No,"  replied  the  "good 
madam."  "How  should  I  want  you?  I  saw 
you  staring  at  my  house  as  if  your  eyes  would 
pop  out  of  your  heads,  and  I  thought,  perhaps, 
you  wanted  me." 

"  It  was  only  —  we  were  only  —  surprised," 
stammered  Pierot.  "  Because  we  did  n't  know 
that  there  was  a  house  here." 

"  There  was  none  last  night,  and  there  won't 
be  any  to-morrow  morning  —  at  least  —  none 
for  children  to  stare  at,"  replied  the  old  woman, 
coolly. 


THE    TWO    WISHES.  165 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Pierot,  aston- 
ished beyond  measure.  "  How  can  a  house  be 
built  in  one  night  1  And  why  won't  it  be  here 
to-morrow  ? " 

"  Because  to-morrow  won't  be  Midsummer's 
Day  —  and  to-day  is,"  replied  the  old  woman  ; 
"  and  a  fairy-house  is  visible  to  mortal  eyes  at 
that  time,  and  no  other." 

" Fairy-house !"  faltered  Pierot;  while  Pie- 
rotte,  jumping  more  rapidly  to  a  conclusion, 
fairly  screamed :  "  Oh,  Pierot !  Madam,  then, 
is  a  fairy  !  A  real  fairy  !  Pierot,  think  of  it, 
only  think  of  it ! " 

"  Very  much  at  your  service,"  said  the  old 
woman,  with  a  malicious  smile.  "  Do  you  like 
fairies,  then?  Do  you  admire  my  pickled 
snake  ?  Would  you  wish  to  pull  some 
flowers  ?  " 

Something  in  the  smile  made  Pierotte  draw 
back ;  but  Pierot  said  politely,  — 

"  One  rose,  perhaps — since  Madam  is  so 
good." 


166  THE   TWO    WISHES. 

The  fairy  leaned  out  and  plucked  a  rose 
from  the  vine  which  grew  on  the  wall  close  by. 

"  Now  listen,"  she  said.  "  Each  of  my  roses 
encloses  a  wish.  You  are  great  wishers,  I 
know ;"  and  her  eyes  twinkled  queerly.  "  This 
time  the  wish  will  come  true,  so  take  care  what 
you  are  about.  There  will  be  no  coming  to 
get  me  to  undo  the  wish,  for  I  shan't  be  visi- 
ble again  till  this  time  next  year  on  Midsum- 
mer's Day,  —  you  know." 

"  Oh,  Pierot !  what  shall  we  wish  for?  "  cried 
Pierotte,  much  excited ;  but  the  old  woman 
only  repeated,  "  Take  care  !  "  drew  her  head 
in  at  the  window,  and  all  in  a  minute  —  how, 
they  could  not  explain  —  the  cottage  had  van- 
ished, the  garden,  the  gate,  —  they  were  in  the 
wood  again,  with  nothing  but  trees  and  bushes 
about  them  ;  and  all  would  have  seemed  like 
a  dream,  except  for  the  red  and  fragrant  rose 
which  Pierot  held  in  his  hand. 

"What  shall  we  wish  for  I"  repeated  Pierotte, 
as  they  seated  themselves  under  a  tree  to  talk 
over  this  marvellous  adventure. 


THE   TWO   WISHES.  167 

"  We  must  be  very  careful,  and  ask  for 
something  nice,"  replied  Pierot. 

"  It  would  be  better  to  wait  and  think  for  a 
long  time  first,"  suggested  Pierotte. 

"  Thou  art  right.  We  will.  Art  thou  not 
hungry  I " 

"  Oh,  so  hungry  !  Let  us  eat  the  rest  of  our 
bread  now.  I  can't  wait  any  longer." 

So  Pierot  produced  the  big  lump  of  bread, 
and  divided  it  into  two  equal  portions. 

"  Look,  look  !  "  cried  Pierotte,  as  her  teeth 
met  in  the  first  mouthful.  "  A  cherry-tree, 
brother, — a  real  cherry-tree  here  in  the  woods! 
And  with  ripe  cherries  on  it !  How  good  some 
would  be  with  our  bread  !  " 

"  First-rate  !  "  cried  Pierot ;  and,  putting 
their  bread  carefully  on  the  grass,  both  ran 
to  the  tree.  Alas !  the  boughs  grew  high,  and 
the  cherries  hung  far  beyond  their  reach. 
Pierot  tried  to  climb  the  tree,  but  the  stem 
was  both  slight  and  slippery.  Then  they 
found  a  forked  stick,  but  vainly  attempted  to 
hook  and  draw  down  a  branch. 


168  THE   TWO    WISHES. 

u  Oh,  dear !  I  wish  we  were  both  grown  up," 
cried  Pierot,  panting  with  exertion. 

"So  do  I.  If  we  were  as  old  as  father  and 
mother,  we  could  reach  the  boughs  without 
even  getting  on  tiptoe,"  chimed  in  Pierotte. 

Luckless  words  !  As  Pierot  spoke,  the  rose, 
which  he  had  stuck  in  his  cap,  shrivelled  and 
faded,  while  a  queer  sensation  as  if  he  were 
being  carried  up  into  the  air  swept  over  him. 
He  clutched  at  something  to  hold  himself 
down.  That  something  was  the  cherry-tree 
bough !  He  could  reach  it  now,  and  as  his  eyes 
turned  with  dismay  toward  Pierotte,  there  she 
stood,  also  holding  a  twig  of  the  tree,  only  two 
or  three  inches  lower  than  his  own.  Her  pretty 
round  cheeks  and  childish  curls  were  gone,  and 
instead  of  them  he  beheld  a  middle-aged  coun- 
tenance with  dull  hair,  a  red  nose,  and  a  mouth 
fallen  in  for  lack  of  teeth.  She,  on  her  part, 
unconscious  of  the  change,  was  staring  at  him 
with  a  horrified  expression. 

"  Why,  Pierot !  "  she  cried  at  last,  in  a  voice 


THE   TWO    WISHES.  169 

which  sounded  as  old  as  her  face,  "  how 
queer  you  look !  You  Ve  got  a  beard,  and 
your  forehead  is  all  criss-cross  and  wrinkly, 
and  your  chin  rough.  Dear  me,  how  ugly  you 
are  !  I  never  thought  you  could  be  so  ugly." 

"  Ugly,  eh  !  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see 
your  own  face,"  said  Pierot,  enraged  at  this 
flattering  criticism.  "Just  wait  till  we  get 
home,  and  I  show  you  the  old  looking-glass. 
But  stay,  we  need  n't  wait ;  "  and  he  dragged 
Pierotte  to  the  side  of  a  little  pool  of  still 
water,  which  had  caught  his  eye  among  the 
bushes.  "  Here  's  a  looking-glass  ready  made," 
he  went  on.  "  Look,  Pierotte,  and  see  what  a 
beauty  you  have  become." 

Poor  Pierotte !  She  took  one  look,  gave  a 
scream,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"That  me!"  she  cried.  "Oh!  I  never, 
never  will  think  it !  What  is  the  matter  with 
us,  Pierot?  Was  it  that  horrid  fairy,  do  you 
think  !  Did  she  bewitch  us  ?  " 

"The  wish!"  faltered  Pierot,   who  at   that 


170  THE    TWO   WISHES. 

moment  caught  sight  of  the  faded  rose  in  his 
cap.  "  I  wished  that  we  were  both  grown  up, 
don't  you  remember  I  Oh,  what  a  fool  I  was  !  " 

"You  horrid  boy!  You  have  gone  and 
wished  me  into  an  ugly  old  woman !  I  '11 
never  forgive  you  ! "  sobbed  Pierotte. 

"  It  was  your  wish  too.  You  said  you  would 
like  to  be  as  old  as  father  and  mother.  So  you 
need  n't  call  me  horrid ! "  answered  Pierot, 
angrily. 

Silence  followed,  broken  only  by  Pierotte's 
sobs.  The  two  old  children  sat  with  their 
backs  to  each  other,  under  different  trees.  By 
and  by  Pierot's  heart  began  to  smite  him. 

"  It  was  more  my  fault  than  hers,"  he 
thought;  and,  turning  round  a  little  way,  he 
said  coaxingly,  "  Pierotte." 

No  answer.  Pierotte  only  stuck  out  her 
shoulder  a  little  and  remained  silent. 

"  Don't  look  so  cross,"  went  on  Pierot.  "  You 
can't  think  how  horrid  it  makes  you  —  a  woman 
of  your  age  ! " 


THE   TWO   WISHES.  171 

"  1 7m  not  a  woman  of  my  age.  Oh,  how 
can  you  say  such  things  ? "  sobbed  Pierotte. 
"  I  don't  want  to  be  grown-up.  I  want  to  be 
a  little  girl  again." 

"  You  used  to  be  always  wishing  you  were 
big/'  remarked  her  now  big  brother. 

"  Y — es,  so  I  was ;  but  I  never  meant  all  at 
once.  I  wanted  to  be  big  enough  to  spin  — 
and  the  —  mother  —  was  —  going  —  to  teach 
me,"  went  on  poor  Pierotte,  crying  bitterly, 
"  and  I  wanted  to  be  as  big  as  Laura  Blaize  — 
and  —  pretty  —  and  some  day  have  a  sweet- 
heart, as  she  had  —  and  —  but  what 's  the  use 

—  I  've  lost  it  all,  and  I  'm  grown  up,  and  old 
and  ugly  already,  and  the  mother  won't  know 
me,  and  the  father  will  say,  '  My  little  Pierotte 

—  Cceur  de  St.  Martin  —  impossible  !    get  out, 
you  witch  ! ' ;      Overcome  by  this  dreadful  pic- 
ture,  Pierotte  hid  her   face   and  cried  louder 
than  ever. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,"  said  Pierot,  after  a 
pause,  "  don't  let  us  go  home  at  all.  We  will 


172  THE   TWO    WISHES, 

just  hide  here  in  the  woods  for  a  year,  and 
when  Midsummer's  Day  comes  round,  we  11 
hunt  till  w^e  find  the  fairy  house  again,  and  beg 
the  fairy,  on  our  knees,  for  another  wish,  and  if 
she  says  '  yes/  we  11  wish  at  once  to  be  little 
just  as  we  were  this  morning,  and  then  we  11  go 
home  directly." 

"  Poor  mother  ;  she  will  think  we  are  dead  ! " 
sighed  Pierotte. 

"  That 's  no  worse  than  if  she  saw  us  like 
this.  I  'd  be  conscripted  most  likely  and  sent 
off  to  fight,  and  me  only  twelve  years  old ! 
And  you  'd  have  a  horrid  time  of  it  with  the 
Blaize  boys.  Robert  Blaize  said  you  were  the 
prettiest  girl  in  Balne  aux  Bois.  I  wonder  what 
he  'd  say  now  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  let  us  stay  here,"  shuddered 
Pierotte.  "I  couldn't  bear  to  see  the  Blaize 
boys  now.  But  then  —  it  will  be  dark  soon  — 
shan't  you  be  frightened  to  stay  in  the  woods 
all  night!" 

"  Oh!  a  man  like  me  is  n't  easily  frightened," 


THE   TWO    WISHES.  173 

said  Pierot,  stoutly,  but  liis  teeth  chattered  a 
little. 

"  It 's  so  queer  to  hear  you  call  yourself  '  a 
man,' "  remarked  Pierotte. 

"  And  it 's  just  as  queer  to  hear  you  call  your- 
self a  little  girl,"  answered  Pierot,  with  a  glance 
at  the  antiquated  face  beside  him. 

"  Dear,  how  my  legs  shake,  and  how  stiff  my 
knees  are  !  "  sighed  Pierotte.  "  Do  grown-up 
people  feel  like  that  always  !  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Pierot,  whose  own  legs 
lacked  their  old  springiness.  "  Would  you  like 
some  cherries  now,  Pierotte  ?  I  can  reach  them 
easily." 

"  Cherries  !  Those  sour  things  ?  No,  thank 
you.  They  would  be  sure  to  disagree  with  me," 
returned  Pierotte,  pettishly. 

"  Times  are  changed,"  muttered  Pierot ;  but 
he  dared  not  speak  aloud. 

"Where  shall  we  sleep!"  asked  Pierotte. 

"Under  the  trees,  so  long  as  the  summer 
lasts." 


174  THE    TWO    WISHES. 

"  Gracious  !  We  shall  both  die  of  rheuma- 
tism." 

"Rheumatism!  What  an  idea  for  a  child 
like  you ! " 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  child,"  said  Pierotte,  with  a 
groan.  "  Here  7s  a  tree  with  grass  below  it,  and 
I  'm  getting  tired  and  sleepy." 

When  the  brother  and  sister  woke  it  was 
broad  sunlight  again. 

"One  day  gone  of  our  year,"  said  Pierot, 
trying  to  be  cheerful. 

It  was  hard  work  as  time  went  on,  and  with 
all  their  constant  walking  and  wandering  they 
never  seemed  to  find  their  way  out  of  the  forest, 
or  of  that  particular  part  of  it  where  their 
luckless  adventure  had  befallen  them.  Turn 
which  way  they  would,  the  paths  always 
appeared  to  lead  them  round  to  the  same  spot ; 
it  was  like  bewitchment;  they  could  make 
nothing  out  of  it.  The  dulness  of  their  lives 
was  varied  only  by  an  occasional  quarrel. 
Pierot  would  essay  to  climb  a  tree,  and  Pierotte, 


THE    TWO    WISHES.  175 

grown  sage  and  proper,  would  upbraid  him  for 
behaving  so  foolishly,  —  "just  like  a  boy,"  — 
or  he  would  catch  her  using  the  pool  as  a  mir- 
ror, and  would  tease  her  for  caring  so  much  for 
a  plain  old  face  when  there  was  nobody  but 
himself  to  look.  How  the  time  went  they  had 
no  idea.  It  seemed  always  daylight,  and  yet 
weeks,  if  not  months,  must  have  passed,  they 
thought,  and  Pierot  at  last  began  to  suspect  the 
fairy  of  having  changed  the  regular  course  of 
the  sun  so  as  to  cheat  them  out  of  the  proper 
time  for  finding  her  at  home. 

"  It 's  just  like  her,"  he  said.  "  She  is  making 
the  days  seem  all  alike,  so  that  we  may  not 
know  when  Midsummer  comes.  Pierotte,  I  '11 
tell  you  what,  we  must  be  on  the  lookout,  and 
search  for  the  little  house  every  day,  for  if  we 
forget  just  once,  that  will  be  the  very  time, 
depend  upon  it." 

So  every  day,  and  all  day  long,  the  two  old 
children  wandered  to  and  fro  in  search  of  the 
fairy  cot.  For  a  long  time  their  quest  was  in 


176  THE    TWO    WISHES. 

vain ;  but  at  last,  one  bright  afternoon,  just 
before  sunset,  as  they  were  about  giving  up  the 
hunt  for  that  day,  the  woods  opened  in  the 
same  sudden  way  and  revealed  the  garden, 
the  hut,  and  —  yes  —  at  the  window  the  pointed 
cap,  the  sharp  black  eyes.  It  was  the  fairy  her- 
self ;  they  had  found  her  at  last. 

For  a  moment  they  were  too  much  bewil- 
dered to  move ;  then  side  by  side  they  hurried 
into  the  garden  without  waiting  for  invitation. 

"  Well,  my  old  gaffer,  what  can  I  do  for  you, 
or  for  you,  dame  ? "  asked  the  fairy,  benevo- 
lently. 

"  Oh,  please,  I  am  not  a  dame,  he  is  not  a 
gaffer,"  cried  Pierotte,  imploringly.  "  I  am 
little  Pierotte"  —  and  she  bobbed  a  courtesy. 
"  And  this  is  Pierot,  my  brother." 

"  Pierot  and  Pierotte  !  Wonderful! "  said  the 
fairy.  "  But,  my  dear  children,  what  has  caused 
this  change  in  your  appearance?  You  have 
aged  remarkably  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"Indeed,  we  have,"  replied  Pierot,  with  a 
grimace. 


THE    TWO   WISHES.  177 

"Well,  age  is  a  very  respectable  thing. 
Some  persons  are  always  wishing  to  be  old,'* 
remarked  the  fairy,  maliciously.  "  You  find  it 
much  pleasanter  than  being  young,  I  dare 
say." 

"  Indeed,  we  don't,"  said  Pierotte,  wiping 
her  eyes  on  her  apron. 

"  No  ?  Well,  that  is  sad,  but  I  have  heard 
people  say  the  same  before  you." 

"  Oh,  please,  please,"  cried  Pierot  and  Pie- 
rotte, falling  on  their  knees  before  the  window, 
"  please,  dear,  kind  fairy,  forgive  us.  We  don't 
like  to  be  grown-up  at  all.  We  want  to  be 
little  and  young  again.  Please,  dear  fairy, 
turn  us  into  children  as  we  were  before." 

"What  would  be  the  use?"  said  the  old 
woman.  "You'd  begin  wanting  to  be  some- 
body else  at  once  if  you  were  turned  back  to 
what  you  were  before." 

"We  won't,  indeed  we  won't,"  pleaded  the 
children,  very  humbly. 

The  fairy  leaned  out  and  gathered  a  rose, 

12 


178  THE    TWO    WISHES. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said.  "  Here  's  another 
wish  for  you.  See  that  it  is  a  wise  one  this 
time,  for  if  you  fail,  it  will  be  of  no  use  to 
come  to  me." 

With  these  words,  she  shut  the  blinds  sud- 
denly, and  lo !  in  one  second,  house,  garden, 
and  all  had  vanished,  and  Pierot  and  Pierotte 
were  in  the  forest  again. 

There  was  no  deliberation  this  time  as  to 
what  the  wish  should  be. 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  little  boy,"  shouted  Pierot, 
holding  the  rose  over  his  head  with  a  sort  of 
ecstasy. 

"Arid  I  wish  I  was  a  little  girl,  the  same 
little  girl  exactly  that  I  used  to  be,"  chorused 
Pierotte. 

The  rose  seemed  to  melt  in  air,  so  quickly 
did  it  wither  and  collapse.  And  the  brother 
and  sister  embraced  and  danced  with  joy,  for 
each  in  the  other's  face  saw  the  fulfilment  of 
their  double  wish. 

" Oh,  how  young  you  look!    Oh,  how  pretty 


THE   TWO    WISHES.  179 

you  are !  Oh,  what  happiness  it  is  not  to  be 
old  any  longer !  The  dear  fairy  !  The  kind 
fairy ! "  These  were  the  exclamations  which  the 
squirrels  and  the  birds  heard  for  the  next  ten 
minutes,  and  the  birds  and  the  squirrels  seemed 
to  be  amused,  for  certain  queer  and  unex- 
plained little  noises  like  laughs  sounded  from 
under  the  leaves  and  behind  the  bushes. 

"  Let  us  go  home  at  once  to  mother,"  cried 
Pierotte. 

There  was  no  difficulty  about  the  paths  now. 
After  walking  awhile,  Pierot  began  to  recognize 
this  turn  and  that.  There  was  the  huntsman's 
oak  and  the  Dropping  Well ;  and  there  —  yes, 
he  was  sure  —  lay  the  hazel  copse  where  the 
father  had  bidden  them  go  for  wood. 

11 1  say,"  cried  Pierotte,  with  a  sudden  bright 
thought,  "  we  will  wait  and  bind  one  fagot  for 
the  mother's  oven  —  the  poor  mother  !  Who 
has  fetched  her  wood  all  this  time,  do  you 
suppose  ?  " 

Plenty  of  sticks  lay  on  the  ground  ready  for 


180  THE   TWO    WISHES. 

binding.  The  wood-choppers  had  just  left  off 
their  work,  it  would  seein.  Pierotte's  basket 
was  filled,  a  fagot  tied  and  lifted  on  to  Pierot's 
shoulders,  and  through  the  gathering  twilight 
they  hurried  homeward.  They  were  out  of  the 
wood  soon.  There  was  the  hut,  with  a  curl  of 
smoke  rising  from  the  chimney  ;  there  was  the 
mother  standing  at  the  door  and  looking  toward 
the  forest.  What  would  she  say  when  she  saw 
them? 

What  she  said  astonished  them  very  much. 

"How  long  you  have  been!"  were  the 
words,  but  the  tone  was  not  one  of  surprise. 

"  0  mother,  mother ! "  cried  Pierotte,  cling- 
ing to  her  arm,  while  Pierot  said,  "  We  were 
afraid  to  come  home  because  we  looked  so  old, 
and  we  feared  you  would  not  know  us,  but  now 
we  are  young  again." 

"Old!  young!"  said  the  mother.  "What 
does  the  lad  mean  !  One  does  not  age  so  fast 
between  sunrise  and  sunset  as  to  be  afraid  to 
come  home.  Are  you  dreaming,  Pierot  ?  " 


THE    TWO    WISHES.  181 

"But  we  have  been  away  a  year,"  said 
Pierot,  passing  his  hand  before  his  eyes  as  if 
trying  to  clear  his  ideas. 

"  A  year!  Prithee  !  And  the  sheets  which  I 
hung  out  at  noon  not  fairly  dry  yet.  A  year  ! 
And  the  goats  thou  drovest  to  pasture  before 
breakfast  not  in  the  shed  yet !  A  year !  Thou 
wouldst  better  not  let  the  father  hear  thee  prate 
thus !  What,  crying,  Pierotte  !  Here 's  a  pretty 
to-do  because,  forsooth,  you  are  come  in  an 
hour  late  !  " 

An  hour  late  !  The  children  looked  at  each 
other  in  speechless  amazement.  To  this  day 
the  amazement  continues.  The  mother  still 
persists  that  they  were  absent  but  a  few  hours. 
Where,  then,  were  the  weeks  spent  in  the  wood, 
the  gray  hair,  the  wrinkles,  the  wanderings  in 
search  of  the  old  woman  and  her  hut  ?  Was 
all  and  each  but  a  bit  of  enchantment,  a  trick 
of  the  mirth-loving  fairies  ?  They  could  not 
tell,  and  neither  can  I.  Fairies  are  unaccount- 
able folk,  and  their  doings  surpass  our  guess- 


182  THE   TWO   WISHES. 

ing,  who  are  but  mortal,  and  stupid  at  that! 
One  thing  I  know,  that  the  two  children  since 
that  day  have  dropped  their  foolish  habit  of 
wishing,  and  are  well  content  to  remain  little 
Pierot  and  Pierotte  till  the  time  comes  for  them 
to  grow  older,  as  it  will  only  too  soon. 


BLUE  AND   PINK. 


WO  valentines  lay  together  in  the 
pillar  post-box.  One  was  pink  and 
one  was  blue.  Pink  lay  a-top,  and 
they  crackled  to  each  other  softly  in  the  paper- 
language,  invented  long  since  by  Papyrus,  the 
father  of  Manuscript,  and  used  by  all  written 
and  printed  sheets  unto  this  day.  Listen  hard, 
next  time  you  visit  the  reading-room  at  the 
Public  Library,  and  you  will  hear  the  news- 
papers exchanging  remarks  across  the  table  in 
this  language. 

Said  the  pink  valentine :  "I  am  prettier  than 
you,  much  prettier,  Miss  Blue." 

Blue  was  modester.  "  That  may  be  true,  my 
dear  Miss  Pink ;  still,  some  folks  like  blue  best, 
I  think,"  she  replied. 


184  BLUE  AND  PINK. 

"I  wonder  they  should,"  went  on  Pink,  talk- 
ing in  prose  now,  for  valentines  can  speak  in 
prose  and  in  rhyme  equally  well.  "You  are 
such  a  chilly  color.  Now  /  warm  people. 
They  smile  when  they  see  me.  I  like  that.  It 
is  sweet  to  give  pleasure." 

"  I  like  to  give  pleasure,  too,"  said  Blue, 
modestly.  "  And  I  hope  I  may,  for  something 
beautiful  is  written  inside  me." 

"What?  oh!  what?"  cried  Pink. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  sighed  Blue.  "  How  can  one 
tell  what  is  inside  one  ?  But  I  know  it  is  some- 
thing sweet,  because 

She  who  sent  me  here 
Is  so  very  fair  and  dear." 

Blue  was  running  into  rhyme  again,  as  valen- 
tines will. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  Pink, 
digging  her  sharp  elbow  into  Blue's  smooth 
side.  "Nothing  is  written  inside  me,  and  I'm 
glad  of  it.  I  am  too  beautiful  to  be  written 
on.  In  the  middle  of  my  page  is  a  picture, 


BLUE  AND  PINK.  185 

Cupid,  with  roses  and  doves.  Oh,  so  fine ! 
There  is  a  border  too,  wreaths  of  flowers, 
flowers  of  all  colors,  and  a  motto,  '  Be  mine/ 
Be  mine  !  What  can  be  better  than  that  ? 
Have  you  got  flowers  and  '  Be  mine '  inside, 
you  conceited  thing?  If  not,  say  so,  and  be 
ashamed,  as  you  deserve  to  be." 

Again  the  pink  elbow  dented  Blue's  smooth 
envelope. 

But  Blue  only  shook  her  head  softly,  and 
made  no  answer.  Pink  grew  angry  at  this. 
She  caught  Blue  with  her  little  teeth  of  mu- 
cilage and  shook  her  viciously. 

"Speak,"  she  said.  " I  hate  your  stuck-up, 
shut-up  people.  Speak  !  " 

But  Blue  only  smiled,  and  again  shook  her 
head. 

Just  then  the  pillar-post  opened  with  a  click. 
The  postman  had  come.  He  scooped  up  Pink, 
Blue,  and  all  the  other  letters,  and  threw  them 
into  his  wallet.  A  fat  yellow  envelope  of  law- 
papers  separated  the  two  valentines,  and  they 
had  no  further  talk. 


186  BLUE  AND  PINK. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Pink  was  left  at  the  door 
of  a  grand  house,  almost  the  finest  in  the  town. 
Charles,  the  waiter,  carried  her  into  the  parlor, 
and  Pink  said  to  herself:  "What  a  thing  it 
is  to  have  a  mission.  My  mission  is  to  give 
pleasure ! " 

"A  letter  for  you,  Miss  Eva,"  said  Charles. 
He  did  not  smile.  Well-behaved  waiters  never 
smile ;  besides,  Charles  did  not  like  Eva. 

"Where  is  your  tray?"  demanded  Eva, 
crossly.  "You  are  always  forgetting  what 
mamma  told  you.  Go  and  get  it."  But  when 
she  saw  Pink  in  her  beautiful  envelope,  unmis- 
takably a  valentine,  she  decided  not  to  wait. 

"  Never  mind,  this  time,"  she  said ;  "  but 
don't  let  it  happen  again." 

"Who's  your  letter  from,  Evy?"  asked 
grandmamma. 

"I  have  n't  opened  it  yet,  and  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  call  me  Evy;  it  sounds  so  back- 
woodsy,"  replied  Eva,  who,  for  some  myste- 
rious reason,  had  waked  that  morning  very 
much  out  of  temper. 


BLUE  AND  PINK.  187 

"  Eva  !  "  said  her  father,  sternly. 

Eva  had  forgotten  that  papa  was  there.  To 
hide  her  confusion,  she  opened  the  pink  enve- 
lope so  hastily  as  to  tear  it  all  across. 

"Oh  dear!"  she  complained.  "  Every  thing 
goes  wrong." 

Then  she  unfolded  the  valentine.  Pink,  who 
had  felt  as  if  a  sword  were  thrust  through 
her  heart  when  her  envelope  was  torn,  bright- 
ened up. 

"  Now,"  she  thought,  "  when  she  sees  the 
flowers,  Cupid,  and  doves,  she  will  be  pleased." 

But  it  was  not  pleasure  which  shone  on  Eva's 
countenance. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  papa,  seeing 
her  face  swell  and  angry  tears  filling  her  eyes. 

"  That  horrid  Jim  Slack  !  "  cried  Eva.  "  He 
said  he  'd  send  me  a  valentine  just  like  Pauline's, 
and  he  has  n't.  Hers  was  all  birds  and  butter- 
flies, and  had  verses — " 

"  Yours  seems  pretty  enough,"  said  papa, 
consolingly. 


188  BLUE  AND  PINK. 

"It's  not  pretty  enough,"  responded  Eva, 
passionately.  "  It  7s  a  stupid,  ugly  thing.  I 
hate  it.  I  won't  have  it." 

And,  horrible  to  state,  she  flung  Pink,  actually 
flung  her,  into  the  middle  of  the  fire.  There 
was  time  for  but  one  crackling  gasp ;  then  the 
yellow  flame  seized  and  devoured  all  —  Cupid, 
doves,  flowers !  Another  second,  they  were 
gone.  A  black  scroll  edged  with  fiery  sparkles 
reared  itself  up  in  the  midst  of  the  glow ;  then 
an  air-current  seized  it,  it  rose,  and  the  soul  of 
Pink  flew  up  the  chimney 

Blue,  meantime,  was  lying  on  the  lap  of  a 
little  girl  of  twelve,  a  mile  or  more  from  this 
scene  of  tragedy.  Two  plump  hands  caressed 
her  softly. 

"  Sister,  may  I  read  it  to  you  just  once 
more  ?  "  begged  a  coaxing  voice. 

"  Yes,  Pet,  once  more.  That  '11  make  five 
times,  and  they  say  there  is  luck  in  odd  num- 
bers," said  another  voice,  kind  and  gay. 

So  Pet  read :  — 


BLUE  AND  PINK.  189 

"  My  dear  is  like  a  dewy  rose 

All  in  the  early  morn  ; 
But  never  on  her  stem  there  grows 
A  single  wounding  thorn. 

"  My  dear  is  like  a  violet  shy, 

Who  hides  her  in  the  grass, 
And  holds  a  fragrant  bud  on  high 
To  bless  all  men  who  pass. 

"  My  dear  is  like  a  merry  bird, 

My  dear  is  like  a  rill, 
Like  all  sweet  things  or  seen  or  heard, 
Only  she 's  sweeter  still. 

"  And  while  she  blooms  beside  my  door, 

Or  sings  beneath  my  sky, 
My  heart  with  happiness  runs  o'er, 
Content  and  glad  am  I. 

"So,  sweetheart,  read  me  as  I  run, 

Smile  on  this  simple  rhyme, 
And  choose  me  out  to  be  your  one 
And  only  VALENTINE." 

"  Is  n't  it  lovely  ?  "  said  Pet,  her  blue  eyes 
dancing  as  she  looked  up. 

"  Yes,  it 's  very  nice,"  replied  sister. 

"  I  wish  everybody  in  the  world  had  such  a 
nice  valentine,"  went  on  Pet.  "  How  pleased 
they  'd  be  !  Do  you  suppose  anybody  has  sent 


190  BLUE  AND  PINK. 

Lotty  one  ?  Only  that  about  the  bird  would  n't 
be  true,  because  Lotty 's  so  sick,  you  know, 
and  always  stays  in  bed." 

"But  Lotty  sings,"  said  sister.  "She's 
always  singing  and  cheerful,  so  she 's  like  a 
bird  in  that." 

"  Birdies  with  broken  wings 

Hide  from  each  other ; 
But  babies  in  trouble 

Can  run  home  to  mother," 

hummed  Pet,  who  knew  the  "St.  Nicholas" 
jingles  by  heart.  "  But  poor  Lotty  has  n't  any 
mamma  to  run  to,"  she  added  softly. 

"No;  and  that's  a  reason  why  it  would  be 
so  specially  nice  to  give  her  the  pleasure  of  a 
valentine  like  yours." 

"  I  wish  somebody  had  sent  her  one,"  said 
Pet,  thoughtfully. 

"I  don't  suppose  there  is  another  in  the 
world  just  like  yours,"  said  sister,  smiling  at 
Pet. 

"  Then  she  can't  have  one.     What  a  pity !  " 

"  She  might  have  this  of  yours,"  suggested 
sister. 


BLUE  AND  PINK.  191 

"  But  —  then  —  I  should  n't  have  any,"  cried 
Pet. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  would,  and  I'll  tell  you  how," 
said  sister.  " You've  had  all  the  pleasure  of 
getting  it,  and  opening  and  reading  it,  already. 
That's  yours  to  keep.  Now,  if  I  copy  the 
verses  for  you  on  plain  white  paper,  you  can 
read  them  over  as  often  as  you  like,  till  by  and 
by  you  learn  them  by  heart.  When  you  have 
done  that  they  will  be  yours  for  always ;  and, 
meanwhile,  Lotty  will  have  the  pleasure  of 
getting  the  valentine,  opening,  reading,  learn- 
ing, just  as  you  have  done  —  so  you  will  get 
a  double  pleasure  instead  of  one.  Don't  you 
see  ?  " 

"  That  will  be  splendid,"  cried  Pet,  joyously. 
"  Poor  Lotty,  how  glad  she  will  be !  And 
I  shall  have  two  pleasures  instead  of  one, 
shan't  If" 

"  How  nice,"  thought  Blue,  "  to  have  given 
two  pleasures  already  !  " 

Sister  copied  the  verses,  a  fresh  envelope  was 


192  BLUE  AND  PINK. 

found,  and  Blue  was  sent  on  her  way.  When 
she  was  carried  upstairs  to  Lotty's  room,  she 
thought  it  the  pleasantest  place  she  had  ever 
seen.  Sunshine  was  there  —  on  the  wall,  on  the 
plants  in  the  window,  most  of  all  in  Lotty's  face, 
as  she  sat  up  in  bed,  knitting  with  red  worsted 
and  big  needles.  When  Blue  was  put  into  her 
hands,  she  laughed  with  astonishment. 

"For  me!"  she  cried.  "Who  could  have 
sent  it  ?  How  pretty  it  is  —  how  pretty  !  A 
great  deal  too  pretty  for  me.  Oh,  what  a  kind, 
dear  somebody  there  is  in  the  world  !  " 

Everybody  in  the  house  was  glad  because 
Lotty  was  glad.  Grandmamma  came  in  to  hear 
the  valentine  ;  so  did  papa,  and  Jack,  Lotty's 
big  brother,  and  Fred,  her  little  one.  Even  the 
cook  made  up  an  excuse  about  the  pudding, 
and  stole  upstairs  to  hear  the  "fine  verses 
which  somebody  had  sint  to  Miss  Lotty.  It's 
swate  as  roses  she  is,  any  day,"  said  cook ; 
"  and  good  luck  to  him  for  sinding  it,  whoiver 
he  is." 


BLUE  AND  PINK.  193 

By  and  by  Lotty's  tender  heart  began  to 
busy  itself  with  a  new  plan. 

"  Grandma,"  she  said,  "  I  'm  thinking  about 
little  Mary  Riley.  She  works  so  hard,  and  she 
hardly  ever  has  anything  nice  happen  to  her. 
Don't  you  think  I  might  send  her  my  valen- 
tine —  in  a  different  envelope,  you  know,  with 
her  name  on  it  and  all  ?  She  'd  be  so  pleased." 

"  But  I  thought  you  liked  it  so  much  your- 
self, dear,"  replied  grandmamma,  unwilling  to 
have  her  darling  spare  one  bit  of  brightness 
out  of  her  sick-room  life. 

"  Oh,  I  do ;  that's  the  reason  I  want  to  give 
it  away,"  said  Lotty,  simply,  and  stroking  Blue, 
who,  had  she  known  how,  would  gladly  have 
purred  under  the  soft  touch.  "  But  I  shall  go 
on  liking  it  all  the  same  if  Mary  has  it,  and 
she  '11  like  it  too.  Don't  you  see,  grandmamma  ! 
I've  copied  the  verses  in  my  book,  so  that  I 
can  keep  them." 

Grandmamma  consented.    The  new  envelope 

was  found,  Mary's  address  was  written  upon  it, 

\\ 


194  BLUE  AND  PINK. 

and  away  went  happy  Blue  to  give  pleasure  to 
a  fresh  friend. 

"  This  is  best  of  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  as 
Mary  laid  aside  her  weary  sewing  to  read  over 
and  over  again  the  wonderful  verses,  which 
seemed  to  have  dropped  out  of  fairy-land.  She 
almost  cried  with  pleasure  that  they  should  be 
sent  to  her. 

"  I  wish  I  could  buy  a  frame  for  'em  —  a 
beautiful  gold  frame,"  she  whispered  to  her- 
self. 

Pink  would  have  been  vain  had  she  heard 
this ;  but  Blue  glowed  with  a  purer  feeling  — 
the  happiness  of  giving  happiness. 

Mary  read  the  verses  over  a  dozen  times  at 
least  before  putting  them  aside ;  but  she  did  put 
them  aside,  for  she  had  work  to  finish,  and  day- 
light was  precious.  The  work  was  a  birthday 
frock.  When  the  last  stitch  was  set,  she  folded 
it  carefully,  put  on  cloak  and  bonnet,  and  pre- 
pared to  cany  the  frock  home.  Last  of  all,  she 
dropped  Blue  into  her  pocket  She  did  not 


BLUE  AND  PINK.  195 

like  to  leave  it  behind.  Something  might  hap- 
pen, she  thought. 

It  was  quite  a  grand  house  to  which  the 
birthday  frock  went.  In  fact,  it  was  next  door 
but  one  to  the  house  in  which  Pink  met  with 
her  melancholy  fate.  The  little  girl  who  was 
to  wear  the  frock  was  very  glad  to  see  Mary, 
and  her  mamma  came  upstairs  to  pay  for  the 
work. 

"  Have  you  any  change  ?  "  she  said.  "  Come 
nearer  to  the  fire.  It  is  cold  to-night." 

Mary  was  confused  by  this  kindness.  Her 
fingers  trembled  as  she  searched  for  her 
porte-monnaie,  which  was  at  the  bottom  of 
her  pocket,  underneath  her  handkerchief.  She 
twitched  out  the  handkerchief  hastily,  and  with 
it,  alas  !  came  Blue.  They  were  close  to  the 
grate,  and  Blue  was  flung  into  the  fire.  Mary 
gave  a  scream  and  made  a  snatch.  It  was 
too  late !  Already  the  flames  had  seized  it ; 
her  beloved  valentine  was  gone,  vanished  into 
ashes  ! 


196  BLUE  AND  PINK. 

"  Was  it  anything  valuable  ? "  asked  the 
lady,  as  Mary  gave  a  little  sob. 

"Oh,  n-o  —  yes,  ma'am;  that  is,  it  was 
verses.  I  never  had  any  before.  And  they 
were  s-o  beautiful ! "  replied  poor  Mary,  half 
crying. 

The  lady  gave  her  an  extra  dollar  for  the 
sewing,  but  this  did  not  console  Mary. 

Meantime  the  ghost  of  Blue  flew  up  the 
chimney.  Upon  the  roof  hovered  a  dim  gray 
shade.  It  was  the  ghost  of  Pink,  wind-blown 
for  a  little  space. 

"  How  sad  life  is !  "  sighed  Pink's  ghost  — 

"  I  was  young,  I  was  fair, 
And  now  I  'm  in  the  air, 
As  ugly  gray  ashes  as  ever  were." 

"  How  sweet  life  is ! "  murmured  the  ghost 
of  Blue  - 

*'  I  've  only  lived  a  little  while, 
But  I  have  made  three  people  smile." 

A  chickadee  who  heard  the  two  ghosts  dis- 
coursing now  flew  down  from  the  roof-peak. 


BLUE  AND  PINK.  197 

He  gathered  Blue's  ashes  up  into  his  beak, 
flew  down  into  the  garden,  and  strewed  them 
about  the  root  of  a  rose-tree. 

"  In  the  spring  you  '11  be  a  rose,"  he  said. 

Then  he  flew  back,  took  up  Pink's  ashes, 
bore  them  into  another  garden,  and  laid  them 
in  the  midst  of  a  bed  of  chickweed. 

"  Make  that  chickweed  crop  a  little  richer,  if 
you  can,"  he  chirped.  "  All  the  better  for  the 
dicky-birds  if  you  do ;  and  a  good  thing  for 
you  too,  to  be  of  use  for  once  in  your  life." 

Then  the  chickadee  flew  away.  Ghosts  have 
to  get  accustomed  to  plain  speaking. 

This  was  the  end  of  Blue  and  Pink. 


A  FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 


JMMY  GALE  was  far  from  anticipating 
misfortunes  or  suspecting  that  she 
was  going  to  have  any  as  she  packed 
her  trunk  for  the  much-talked-of  visit  to 
Elliott's  Mills.  The  very  putting  of  the  things 
into  the  trays  was  a  pleasure,  for  it  meant  the 
satisfaction  of  a  long-deferred  wish.  To  go  to 
Elliott's  Mills  had  been  the  desire  of  her  heart 
ever  since  she  was  a  little  girl  of  eight,  and  she 
was  now  fourteen ;  and  she  folded  her  dresses 
and  patted  each  collar  and  pair  of  stockings  into 
place  with  a  glad  feeling  at  her  heart. 

I  must  tell  you  about  Elliott's  Mills,  or  you 
will  not  understand  why  Emmy  was  so  pleased 
to  go  there.  It  was  a  very  small  village  in  the 
western  part  of  New  York.  To  reach  it  you 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  199 

had  to  take,  first  a  whole  day's  journey  by  rail, 
and  then  a  two-mile  drive  over  a  rather  rough 
road.  When  arrived  there  you  found  yourself 
in  an  ugly,  unattractive  little  wooden  hamlet, 
set  down  among  low  hills  and  tracts  of  wood- 
land. This  does  not  sound  over-delightful,  does 
it?  But  what  made  Elliott's  Mills  so  charming 
was  that  Aunt  Emma  lived  there  during  the 
summer,  and  the  life  that  she  and  her  family 
led  had  an  inexpressible  fascination  for  all  the 
young  people  in  the  connection. 

Aunt  Emma's  home  had  always  been  in  New 
York  City  until  her  husband,  who  was  a  lawyer, 
came  into  possession  some  years  before  of  an 
enormous  tract  of  land,  some  thousands  of  acres 
in  extent,  in  the  western  part  of  the.  State.  It 
became  necessary  for  him  to  spend  some  months 
there  every  year  to  look  after  it.  First  he  built 
a  small  law  office  and  a  couple  of  bedrooms  for 
use  on  these  occasions.  Then  Aunt  Emma 
wanted  to  go  with  him,  and  another  room  or 
two  was  added  for  her ;  and  so  it  went  on  till 


200  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

the  little  law  office  had  grown  into  a  big,  ram- 
bling country  house  of  the  most  irregular  shape, 
with  small  chambers  opening  out  of  large  ones, 
doors,  cupboards,  entries,  and  staircases  where 
you  least  expected  them,  little  flights  of  steps 
leading  up  into  rooms  and  down  into  rooms  — 
just  the  sort  of  house,  in  short,  which  boys 
and  girls  delight  in.  Aunt  Emma,  who  was  a 
woman  of  admirable  sense,  made  no  attempt  to 
introduce  the  elegances  of  the  city  into  the 
woods,  not  even  when  it  grew  to  be  her  home 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  year.  Air,  space, 
and  freedom  to  do  as  you  liked  were  the  lux- 
uries of  the  place.  All  the  bedrooms  were 
furnished  with  the  same  small-patterned  blue 
ingrain  carpet  and  little  sets  of  oak-painted 
furniture  precisely  alike.  The  big  parlor 
and  dining-room  had  wicker  chairs  and  willow 
tables,  roomy  sofas  and  couches  covered  with 
well-washed  chintz,  and  skins  and  rugs  on  the 
matted  floors.  Deer's  antlers  in  the  hall  held 
hats,  whips,  and  coats.  There  was  a  garden  of 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  201 

sweet  common  flowers  to  supply  the  summer 
vases,  crackling  wood-fires  for  cool  evenings, 
and  a  bookcase  of  light  reading  for  rainy  days. 
The  table  was  deliciously  supplied  with  game 
and  trout,  wild  fruits  and  country  cream,  and 
you  might  sit  on  the  floor  and  tell  ghost-stories 
till  midnight  if  you  cared  to  do  so.  In  the  big 
stables  a  little  troop  of  Indian  ponies,  broken  to 
saddle  or  harness,  were  kept.  Most  of  them 
had  Indian  names,  in  honor  of  the  half-civilized 
tribe  which  lived  close  by  on  their  reservation. 
There  was  Chief  Blacksnake  and  Lady  Black- 
snake  and  Young  Blacksnake,  Uncas  and  Pot- 
tomet  and  "  Xantego,"  commonly  pronounced 
"  Want-to-go,"  and  riding  and  driving  went  on 
the  summer  through  among  the  visitors  who 
filled  the  ample,  hospitable  house.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  pony  for  everybody,  and  every- 
body liked  to  have  a  pony,  and  the  ponies 
themselves  enjoyed  it. 

Emmy  Gale  was  her  aunt  Emma's  name- 
sake, but,  as  it  happened,  she  had  never  been  at 


202  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

Elliott's  Mills,  though  her  elder  sisters,  Bess  and 
Jean,  had  made  many  visits  there.  This  was 
partly  accidental,  for  twice  it  had  been  arranged 
that  she  should  go,  and  twice  illness  had  pre- 
vented. Once,  her  cousin  Lena  had  measles,  and 
the  other  time  Emmy  herself  had  scarlet  fever. 
Nobody  was  in  fault  either  time,  still  it  rankled 
in  Emmy's  mind  that  she  should  never  have 
seen  the  place  about  which  Bess  and  Jean  were 
forever  raving.  And  now  her  time  was  come ; 
she  was  actually  packing  her  trunk.  No  won- 
der she  was  pleased. 

I  must  just  say  one  word  about  Emmy  be- 
fore I  start  her  on  her  journey.  She  was  very 
tall  of  her  age,  thin,  and  rather  awkward,  as 
overgrown  girls  are  apt  to  be.  A  passionate 
desire  to  be  liked  was  one  of  the  ruling  motives 
of  her  nature,  but  she  was  very  apt  to  fancy 
that  people  did  not  like  her,  and  to  worry  and 
grieve  over  it  in  a  morbid  manner.  When 
quite  at  her  ease,  she  was  an  attractive  girl, 
loving  and  bright  and  funny,  but  poor  Emmy 


A    FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  203 

was  seldom  quite  at  ease.  She  could  only  be 
that  when  she  forgot  herself,  and  that  was  not 
often ;  for  what  with  wondering  if  people  would 
approve  of  her,  and  vexing  herself  with  the 
idea  that  they  did  not,  and  fidgeting  as  to  why 
they  did  not,  she  contrived  to  be  the  subject 
of  her  own  thoughts  for  a  considerable  part  of 
the  time. 

Her  escort  was  an  old  gentleman,  a  friend  of 
her  father's.  He  did  not  say  much  to  Emmy, 
but  he  was  very  polite  as  old  gentlemen  go, 
and  in  the  course  of  the  long  day's  journey 
bought  for  her  three  illustrated  papers,  half  a 
dozen  beautiful  red  apples,  and  a  "  prize  pack- 
age of  pop-corn,"  which,  had  it  chosen  to  live 
up  to  its  label,  might  have  had  a  gold  bracelet 
in  it,  but  in  reality  contained  nothing  better 
than  a  brass  ring.  Emmy  liked  the  apples,  and 
did  not  at  all  resent  her  escort's  lack  of  conver- 
sation. In  fact,  she  scarcely  noticed  it,  so  busy 
was  she  in  thinking  of  the  joys  to  come.  With 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  long  reaches  of  soft  red 


204  A    FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

and  yellow  woods  which  seemed  to  be  running 
past  the  train  as  the  train  ran  by  them,  she 
made  pictures  to  herself  of  what  was  going  to 
happen.  Lena  would  come  down  at  the  car- 
riage to  meet  her^  she  was  quite  sure.  And 
perhaps  Bess  or  Jean,  who  had  been  at  Elliott's 
Mills  for  the  past  month,  would  come  too. 
It  would  be  about  half-past  five  when  the 
train  was  due,  so  they  could  reach  the  house 
just  before  supper,  which  is.  always  a  pleasant 
time  to  arrive  anywhere.  It  all  seemed  most 
promising  as  she  thought  it  over. 

The  first  bit  of  ill  luck  which  befell  Emmy 
was  that  the  train  proved  to  be  behind  time. 
There  were  tiresome  stops  and  unaccountable 
delays.  At  noon  the  conductor  owned  to  being 
two  hours  late,  so  they  kept  on  losing  time. 
Railroads  are  like  a  dissected  puzzle  —  if  one 
piece  gets  out  of  its  place  it  makes  the  other 
pieces  wrong.  They  had  to  wait  for  all  the 
other  trains,  and  telegraph  and  stand  still. 
Tired  and  vexed,  Emmy  sat  with  her  nose 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  205 

pressed  against  the  window,  looking  out  into 
the  deepening  dusk  as  the  engine  puffed  and 
snorted  and  ran  the  train  slowly  back  and  for- 
ward, on  to  sidings  and  off  them.  Her  impa- 
tience grew  and  grew,  till  it  seemed  as  if  she 
must  jump  out  and  push  something,  the  loco- 
motive or  the  conductor — she  did  n't  care  which 
—  anything  to  make  them  go  on ;  and  when 
eight  o'clock  came  and  nine,  with  the  Mills 
station  still  far  ahead,  she  felt  so  worn  out  and 
discouraged  that  she  could  easily  have  cried, 
except  that  girls  of  fourteen  do  not  like  to  cry  in 
public.  The  only  thing  that  diverted  her  from 
her  woes  was  watching  two  girls  of  her  own 
age  who  sat  in  front  of  her,  and  were  "cap- 
ping verses  "  to  pass  away  the  time.  The  train 
made  a  great  deal  of  noise,  so  that  they  had  to 
scream  to  make  themselves  heard ;  then  the  roar 
and  rumble  ceased  suddenly  in  that  queer  way 
which  is  common  to  all  railroads,  and  a  very 
high-pitched  voice  was  heard  to  shriek  out  the 
following  extraordinary  question,  — 


206  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

"Pray  how  was  the  Devil  dressed?  D  — " 
Everybody  jumped,  and  Emmy's  old  gentleman 
pat  on  his  spectacles  and  gazed  long  and  sol- 
emnly at  the  young  ladies  who  seemed  to  be 
conversing  on  such  extraordinary  topics,  while 
they  hid  their  faces  and  giggled  violently  for 
two  miles. 

It  was  exactly  ten  when  they  finally  reached 
the  Mills  station.  The  old  gentleman  helped 
Emmy  out,  the  train  rushed  on,  and  she  found 
herself  standing  alone  on  a  wet  platform  beside 
her  trunk.  Her  aunt's  man  William  came  to 
meet  her,  swinging  a  lantern. 

"Didn't  any  one  come  down  to  meet  me?" 
she  asked. 

"No,  miss.  Mr.  Tom  drove  down  for  the 
two  o'clock  express,  and  sent  back  word  that 
your  train  would  be  late,  and  I  must  be  sure 
to  fetch  a  big  lantern,  for  the  road  is  all 
washed  away  by  the  freshet.  Is  that  your  box, 
miss  ?  We  'd  better  start  at  once,  for  it 's  going 
to  take  us  two  hours  and  a  half  to  get  over  to 
the  village." 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  207 

"  Two  hours  and  &  half !  "  gasped  Emmy. 

"Yes,  miss,  because  of  the  roads.  They're 
almost  dangerous,  We  '11  have  to  walk  nearly 
the  whole  way,  for  it 's  so  dark  that  we  can't 
see  where  we're  going." 

It  was  quite  two  hours  and  a  half  before  they 
reached  the  house.  Emmy  had  fallen  asleep 
half  a  dozen  times,  and  waked  up  to  be  con- 
scious that  she  was  stiff,  chilled,  and  aching  in 
every  bone,  and  that  William  was  walking  at 
the  horses'  heads,  holding  the  lantern  up  high 
to  make  sure  of  the  road.  At  last  they  turned 
in  at  a  gate  and  he  came  to  the  window  to  say 
encouragingly,  "  Just  there,  miss." 

"What  time  is  it  ?  "  asked  Emmy. 

"Nigh  on  to  one,  miss." 

"  Oh  dear,  and  they  will  all  be  in  bed ! " 
thought  Emmy ;  but  she  was  really  too  tired  to 
care  much  about  it.  A  sleepy-looking  maid 
was  sitting  up  to  receive  her.  Mrs.  Elliott  had 
left  her  love,  she  said,  and  the  young  lady  must 
take  some  hot  soup  and  get  to  bed  as  fast  as 


208  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

possible.  It  was  not  at  all  the  reception  which 
Emmy  had  dreamed  of,  but  she  was  so  worn 
out  with  fatigue  that  bed  seemed  the  only  thing 
in  the  world  worth  thinking  of  just  then,  and 
there,  with  the  assistance  of  the  maid,  she  soon 
found  herself. 

When  she  woke,  the  room  was  bright  with 
sun,  which  streamed  into  the  window  with  such 
an  "up  a  long  time  ago"  expression,  that  Emmy 
knew  she  must  have  slept  late.  She  was  still 
tired,  and  lay  quietly  looking  about  her  and 
recognizing  all  the  little  conveniences  and 
devices  of  which  she  had  heard  from  her  sis- 
ters, till  a  little  tap  sounded,  the  door  softly 
opened,  and  Aunt  Emma's  kind,  handsome  face 
looked  in. 

"  Good  morning,  my  dear ;  I  hope  you  are 
rested,"  she  said,  with  a  kiss.  "  I  would  not  let 
any  one  wake  you,  for  you  must  have  been 
tired  out.  Now  you  must  have  some  break- 
fast." And  in  another  moment,  with  the  ease 
which  seemed  to  characterize  all  arran Demerits 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  209 

in  which  Aunt  Emma  had  a  share,  in  came  a 
napkin-covered  tray  borne  by  a  neat  little  maid, 
with  suck  a  nice  breakfast !  A  big  pink-and- 
white  cup  full  of  hot  cocoa,  broiled  chicken, 
delicious  potato  stewed  with  cream,  two  white 
rolls,  and  a  baked  pear  in  a  saucer.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  tempting  to  hungry 
Emmy,  but  even  as  she  sipped  the  first  spoon- 
ful of  cocoa,  the  question  at  her  heart  found 
its  way  to  her  lips:  "Aunty,  where  are  the 
girls?" 

"  The  girls,"  said  aunty  in  her  pleasant,  de- 
cided voice,  "  are  gone  to  Niagara  for  two  or 
three  days.  A  party  was  made  up  for  some 
friends  of  your  cousin  May's  who  are  staying 
with  us,  and  Bess  and  Jean  and  Lena  went  too. 
They  will  be  back  day  after  to-morrow,  and 
meanwhile  you  will  have  a  chance  to  get 
thoroughly  rested." 

"  Gone  to  Niagara ! "  exclaimed  Emmy. 
"  Oh,  why  didn't  they  wait  till  I  came  !  " 

"That  would  not  have  been   possible,    my 

14 


210  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

dear,"  said  her  aunt.  "  The  Jarvises,  for  whom 
the  party  was  made,  only  stay  with  us  till  next 
Thursday,  and  May  expects  other  guests  early 
in  the  week,  so  she  could  not  be  away  later." 
Then  some  one  called  her,  and  Aunt  Emma 
went  away,  just  saying  kindly  as  she  walked 
off,  "Make  a  good  breakfast,  dear  !  " 

Poor  Emmy !  she  was  too  hungry  not  to  eat, 
but  the  meal  was  literally  mingled  with  tears. 
She  sobbed  with  each  mouthful,  and  more  than 
one  salt  drop  hopped  down  her  nose  to  flavor 
the  baked  pear.  It  was  foolish  of  her,  I  admit, 
but  disappointments  are  hard  to  bear  when  one 
is  only  fourteen  years  old  and  very  tired  into 
the  bargain,  and  this  was  a  really  great  disap- 
pointment. Three  whole  days-  all  alone  with 
aunty,  and  the  others  away  enjoying  them- 
selves at  Niagara  without  her !  She  was  rather 
afraid  of  her  aunt,  and,  though  very  desirous 
to  win  her  good  opinion,  this  hidden  fear  made 
Emmy  so  shy  and  awkward  that  she  never  ap- 
peared at  her  best  when  in  her  company. 


A    FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  211 

Sadly  and  languidly  she  got  up  and  began 
to  dress,  feeling  as  if  the  heart  was  taken  out 
of  everything.  Raising  the  lid  of  the  soap-dish, 
there  on  the  nice  little  pink  cake  of  soap  lay  a 
note  with  "  Emmy  "  written  on  it.  Much  won- 
dering, she  opened.  It  was  from  her  sister 
Bess,  and  it  read :  — '• 

"  DEAR  EMMY,  —  Don't  be  poky  because  you 
find  us  gone.  It's  only  for  a  day  or  two, 
and  we  shall  be  back  almost  before  you  miss 
us."  ("Not  much  chance  of  that!"  reflected 
Emmy,  dolorously.)  "Be  a  good  girl,  laugh 
and  talk  with  aunty,  pet  Uncle  Tom,  don't  poke, 
and  be  glad  to  see  us  on  Saturday  night. 


"  Your  loving 


"  BESS." 


"  How  can  I  help  poking,  and  what  does  she 
mean  anyway  ? "  thought  Emmy.  However, 
this  proof  that  she  had  been  remembered 
cheered  her  a  little,  and  she  went  on  with  her 
dressing  in  better  spirits.  A  long  folded  slip 


212  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

of  paper  was  pinned  round  the  handle  of  the 
water-jug.    Another  note  !  from  Jean  this  time. 

"DEAR  LITTLE  EMMY,"  (Emmy  was  half  a 
head  taller  than  Jean  !)  —  "  We  hate  to  go  away 
and  leave  you,  and  we  would  n't  if  it  were  not 
so  perfectly  splendid  to  see  Niagara.  It  won't 
be  long  before  we  come  back,  and  you  must  n't 
be  lonely.  Aunty  is  so  nice,  and,  dear,  if  only 
you  would  n't  be  afraid  of  her !  She  does  n't 
like  shy  people,  so  don't  be  shy.  There's  a 
lovely  story-book  in  the  bookcase  in  the  dining- 
room  :  '  The  Dove  in  the  Eagle's  Nest.'  It 's  on 
the  third  shelf  from  the  top.  Do  read  it  while 
we  are  away  !  You  will  like  it,  I  am  sure. 
"  Your  affectionate 

"JEAN." 

Jean  was  the  kindest  little  soul  in  the  world, 
but  this  hint  about  Aunt  Emma's  not  liking  shy 
people  was  a  mistake.  It  made  Emmy  more 
frightened  and  ill  at  ease  than  ever. 

Washing  over,  she  went  to  the  dressing-table 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  213 

to  braid  her  hair.     Behold !  another  billet  on 
the  pincushion.     This  was  in  rhyme :  — 

11  O  Emmy  tall,  O  Emmy  fair, 
Don't  forget  to  brush  your  hair. 
Pin  your  ruffle  neat  and  straight, 
Be  down  to  breakfast  at  half-past  eight; 
Don't  crook  your  shoulders  when  you  sit  down, 
Don't  rip  the  gathers  of  your  gown, 
Don't  set  up  to  be  lonesome,  pray, 
Because  we  girls  are  gone  away, 
But  cheer  up  auntie  and  Uncle  Tom, 
And  we  '11  be  back  anon,  anon  ! 

"  ANON-Y-MOUS." 

This  made  Emmy  smile,  and  she  did  her 
hair  quite  cheerfully.  When  she  opened  the 
top  drawer  to  put  away  her  comb  and  brush, 
she  spied  a  small  parcel  directed  to  herself, 
and  laid  there  to  catch  her  eye.  She  gave  a 
little  laugh.  How  nice  in  the  girls  to  do  this 
for  her ! 

The  parcel  was  from  Lena.  It  contained 
a  very  pretty  velvet  pincushion,  mounted  on  a 
fluted  shell,  and  a  note. 

"  DEAR  EMMY,  — We  are  so  sorry  not  to  be 
here  when  you  come,  but  we  shall  only  be  gone 


214  A    FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

a  little  while.  Marian  Jarvis  is  such  a  nice 
girl !  She  wants  to  see  you  dreadfully.  I  do 
hope  you  will  like  her.  You  must  do  every- 
thing pleasant  that  you  can  think  of  till  we 

come  back. 

"  Your  loving 

"  LENA." 

One  more  surprise  awaited  Emmy.  She 
was  just  leaving  the  room  when  she  spied  a 
large  piece  of  brown  paper  pinned  to  the 
wall.  On  it  was  the  following  mysterious  in- 
scription, — 

"  N.  E.  corner  of  room,  under  edge  of  carpet. 
Search  rewarded." 

It  took  her  some  time  to  make  out  which  was 
the  northeast  corner ;  when  at  last  she  identi- 
fied it,  all  that  appeared  from  under  the  carpet 
was  a  similar  bit  of  paper  with  another  myste- 
rious inscription,  — 

"  S.  W.  corner  of  room,  under  edge  of  carpet. 
Search  rewarded." 

The  reward  of  search  in  this  instance  was  a 


A   FORTUMATE  MISFORTUNE.  215 

long  narrow  parcel  containing-  two  brand-new 
hair-pins  and  a  single  line  of  writing,  — 

"  Behind  looking-glass  on  bureau." 

Highly  diverted,  Emmy  hastened  to  tip  the 
glass,  and  there,  stored  away  behind  it,  she 
beheld  a  small  white  jam-pot.  A  label  tucked 
in  between  lid  and  jar  said  succinctly,  — 

"  Plum  jam  at  bedtime  eaten  with  a  hair-pin 
is  goloptious  !  Try  it !  " 

All  these  jokes  and  surprises  raised  Emmy's 
spirits  so  that  she  ran  down-stairs  quite  glee- 
fully. But  there  things  went  wrong  again. 
Aunt  Emma  was  deep  in  household  accounts. 
She  nodded  kindly  to  Emmy  and  said  a  few 
pleasant  words ;  then  she  became  absorbed  in 
her  reckonings  and  forgot  her  for  the  moment. 
Emmy  was  by  no  means  one  of  those  children 
who  can  be  trusted  to  entertain  themselves  in 
the  room  where  any  one  else  is  sitting.  She  was 
too  self-conscious,  too  apt  to  imagine  that 
people  were  criticising  what  she  did  or  said. 
She  wanted  to  ramble  about  the  house  and 


216  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

identify  the  things  and  places  she  had  heard 
described,  and  if  she  had  done  this  simply  and 
naturally  as  Jean  would,  or  Bess,  no  one  would 
have  been  disturbed,  least  of  all  Aunt  Emma. 
But  a  sense  of  shy  awkwardness  prevented, 
and  what  she  did  was  to  wait  till  her  aunt  was 
in  the  very  middle  of  a  long  column  of  figures, 
and  then  say  timidly,  — 

"  Aunt  Emma,  may  I  —  may  I  —  go  into  the 
dining-room  I " 

Mrs.  Elliott  stopped,  lost  her  count,  and  after 
trying  in  vain  to  recover  it,  said  with  a  little 
natural  impatience,  — 

11  My  dear,  never  interrupt  any  one  who  is 
adding  up  a  sum,  if  you  can  help  it.  You 
have  lost  me  all  my  last  ten  minutes'  work. 
What  did  you  say  ?  go  into  the  dining-room  ? 
why,  of  course,  go  just  where  you  like."  Then 
she  began  to  cipher  again. 

This  was  quite  enough  to  make  Emmy  mis- 
erable. She  had  done  wrong.  She  had  put 
Aunt  Emma  out.  Aunt  Emma  did  not  love 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  217 

her.  She  never  would  love  her  as  she  loved 
the  other  girls !  These  reflections  passed 
through  her  mind  as  she  sat  before  the  glass 
door  of  the  bookcase,  not  even  trying  to  look 
up  the  story  which  Jean  had  recommended. 
Uncle  Tom  coming  into  the  room  noticed  her 
melancholy  attitude,  and  said  in  his  hearty 
voice,  "  Well,  my  little  maid,  you  look  dumpy. 
All  your  contemporaries  gone,  heh!  Never 
mind;  they  will  all  be  back  soon,  and  mean- 
while you  must  cheer  up  the  old  folks."  Jean 
or  Bess  would  have  dimpled  'and  giggled  at 
such  an  address,  and  perhaps  run  across  the 
room  and  given  Uncle  Tom  a  kiss  ;  but  Emmy 
only  shrank  a  little  and  said  nothing ;  so  that 
her  uncle,  as  he  drank  his  glass  of  Apollinaris 
water,  said  to  himself,  "  A  sulky  child,  I  'm 
afraid."  So  easy  it  is  to  be  misjudged  in  this 
world. 

At  dinner,  Emmy's  evil  angel  took  posses- 
sion of  her  again.  She  answered  in  mono- 
syllables when  her  uncle  and  aunt  spoke  to 


218  A    FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

her,  and  poked  her  food  into  her  mouth  with  a 
nervous  haste  which  brought  on  a  fit  of  chok- 
ing. This  mortified  her  deeply,  for  she  imag- 
ined that  Aunt  Emma  was  thinking,  "What  an 
ill-mannered  girl  she  is  ! "  whereas  Aunt  Emma 
was  really  thinking,  "Poor  thing!  what  can  I 
do  to  make  her  feel  more  comfortable  I "  It 
would  be  a  convenience,  sometimes,  if  we  might 
have  glass  panes  in  our  hearts,  so  that  people 
could  look  in  and  see  what  we  are  really 
feeling. 

The  evening  seemed  dreadfully  long.  Emmy 
pretended  to  read  "  The  Dove  in  the  Eagle's 
Nest,"  but  a  sort  of  spell  of  stiff  misery  was 
over  her  all  the  while.  She  w^as  conscious  of 
her  knees  and  elbows,  her  upper  lip  kept  twitch- 
ing, she  neither  acted  nor  spoke  naturally. 
Mrs.  Elliott  pitied  her,  but  she  could  not  help 
saying  to  herself,  "  What  a  self-conscious  child 
she  is ;  how  different  from  Jean  and  Bess ! " 
And  what  was  worse,  Emmy  suspected  that 
aunty  was  tl  linking  exactly  that,  and  suffered 
accordingly. 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  219 

Tom  came  home  next  day.  He  was  an  im- 
mensely tall,  handsome,  good-natured  young 
man.  Bess  and  Jean  adored  him,  and  were 
always  telling  stories  about  the  things  he  said 
and  did,  but  to  Emmy  he  seemed  a  formidable 
person.  He  was  fond  of  teasing  and  of  banter, 
and  it  was  another  of  his  peculiarities  to  be  par- 
ticularly observant  about  a  lady's  dress.  He 
noticed  at  once  that  the  braid  was  ripped  off 
the  edge  of  Emmy's  skirt  so  as  to  form  a 
dangerous  little  loop,  and  told  her  of  it.  She 
went  away  at  once,  and  sewed  it  fast,  but  she 
felt  disgraced  somehow,  and  marked  out  as 
a  slattern,  and  could  not  help  shedding  a  few 
tears  as  she  worked.  Then  Tom,  who  saw 
everything,  observed  the  red  marks  under  her 
eyes,  and  the  melancholy  droop  of  her  mouth, 
and  he  too  set  her  down  as  sulky,  and,  suppos- 
ing that  she  had  taken  offence  at  some  of  his 
harmless  pleasantries,  forbore  to  joke  with  her 
thenceforward.  This  made  her  sure  that  Tom 
did  not  like  her  either,  which  was  another 


220  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

affliction,  for  Emmy  was  most  anxious  to  be 
taken  into  the  circle  of  his  pets  and  favorites. 

In  the  afternoon  she  had  another  mishap. 
Aunt  Emma  sent  her  to  get  a  paper  out  of  her 
writing-desk,  and  Emmy  somehow  managed  to 
hamper  the  lock  so  that  the  key  could  not  be 
turned.  Nobody  scolded  her,  but  Mrs.  Elliott 
looked  sorry  and  perplexed,  as  well  she  might, 
with  the  nearest  locksmith  twenty  miles  distant, 
and  Emmy  felt  that  her  cup  of  misfortune  was 
full.  That  night  she  cried  herself  to  sleep. 

On  the  third  day  the  party  from  Niagara 
came  back,  and  the  house  all  in  a  moment 
seemed  to  fill  with  bright  life  and  gayety. 
Cousin  May's  friends,  the  Jarvises,  w^ere  hand- 
some, well-bred  girls,  with  a  great  deal  of  air 
and  style  about  all  their  appointments.  Cousin 
May  herself  was  a  belle  and  beauty,  and  had 
always  been  the  object  of  Emmy's  wildest 
admiration.  Several  gentlemen  were  of  the 
party,  and  there  were  Jean  and  Bess  run- 
ning about  with  the  rest,  on  the  friendliest 


A   FOKTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  221 

terms  with  everybody,  and  as  much  at  home  as 
Lena.  It  made  Emmy  feel  left  out  and  lonely, 
for  her  shyness  was  by  no  means  lessened  by 
the  arrival  of  all  these  strangers,. and  she  had 
the  painful  sensation  of  being  separated  from  the 
others  by  a  sort  of  invisible  wall,  which  she 
could  not,  and  they  would  not,  pass  over.  Jean 
and  Bess  did  what  they  could  to  cheer  her,  but 
a  great  deal  was  going  on  in  the  large  gay 
household,  and  they  had  not  much  time  to 
spare  for  the  little  sister  who  could  not  explain 
even  to  herself  why  she  felt  so  forlorn. 

Lady  Blacksnake  was  supposed  to  be  Lena's 
own  particular  pony.  Lena  had  a  little  wagon 
of  her  own  too ;  and  on  Monday  she  took 
Emmy  out  with  her.  This  went  delightfully 
till,  as  they  were  coming  home  late  in  the  after- 
noon, Emmy  coaxed  Lena  to  let  her  drive. 
What  she  did  to  Lady  Blacksnake  no  one  ever 
knew,  but  all  in  one  minute  that  excellent  ani- 
mal put  her  head  down  and  ran  away. 

"  Oh,"  screamed  Emmy,  "  shall  we  jump 
out  ?  " 


222  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

"No,"  said  Lena,  perfectly  calm,  though  her 
face  was  very  white.  "  Saw  her  mouth." 

So  she  took  one  rein,  and  Emmy  the  other, 
and  they  sawed  Lady  Blacksnake's  mouth  with 
hard,  regular  pulls,  till  the  wild  pace  slackened 
first  to  a  gallop  and  then  to  a  trot,  and  they 
were  going  along  at  their  old  rate,  only  Lady 
Blacksnake's  heaving  flanks  and  their  own 
frightened  countenances  telling  the  tale  of 
their  late  danger.  It  was  real  danger,  for 
once  during  the  run  the  hind  wheel  absolutely 
grazed  the  edge  of  a  sharp  bank,  and  had  they 
met  another  carriage  they  could  scarcely  have 
escaped  a  collision;  but  they  both  agreed  to 
make  as  light  of  the  incident  as  they  could  when 
they  got  home,  lest  they  should  be  forbidden 
to  go  out  again  by  themselves.  Their  account 
of  the  accident  therefore  was  given  with  a  lev- 
ity which  quite  angered  Uncle  Tom. 

"  Upon  my  word,  young  ladies,"  he  said 
severely,  "  you  seem  to  think  it  a  fine  thing  to 
have  been  in  danger  of  your  lives.  If  you  had 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  223 

really  broken  all  your  bones  it  would  have  been 
funnier  still,  I  suppose.  What  on  earth  are  you 
laughing  at  ?  "  for  somehow  this  address  tickled 
the  girls'  half-hysterical  mood  into  paroxysms 
of  giggling  which  continued  till  they  cried,  and 
the  more  Uncle  Tom  frowned  the  more  they 
giggled.  Aunt  Emma  saw  how  it  was,  and 
ordered  them  off  to  bed,  and  next  morning  the 
reaction  had  come,  and  they  were  pale  and 
nervous  and  depressed  enough  to  please  the 
most  exacting  friend  who  might  be  anxious  to 
make  them  "  sensible  of  their  escape." 

Wednesday,  the  day  before  the  Jarvises  were 
to  leave,  had  been  set  aside  for  a  picnic.  Emmy 
had  looked  forward  eagerly  to  this  ;  so  you  can 
imagine  her  feelings  when  on  Tuesday  a  hard 
toothache  set  in  which  kept  her  awake  all 
night,  and  left  her  next  morning  still  in  such 
pain  and  with  such  a  swollen  face  that  it  was 
manifestly  impossible  for  her  to  leave  the  house. 
Kind  little  Jean  offered  to  give  up  the  picnic 
and  stay  at  home  with  her;  but  neither  Emmy 


224  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

nor  Aunt  Emma  would  hear  of  this,  and  it  ended 
in  everybody's  going  and  leaving  her  in  the 
care  of  old  Eliza,  aunty's  housekeeper,  who  had 
been  nurse' to  all  the  children  in  turn,  from  Tom 
to  Lena,  and  liked  nothing  better  than  a  chance 
to  cuddle  and  cosset  any  one  who  was  ill. 

Her  warm  fomentations  and  roasted  raisins 
and  pettings  and  pattings  were  so  effectual  that 
by  afternoon  Emmy  felt  quite  comfortable 
again.  She  grew  very  fond  of  kind  old  Eliza, 
and  her  heart  being  opened  by  the  situation, 
she  ended  by  telling  her  how  miserable  and 
"  unlucky "  she  had  been  all  the  week. 

"  And  indeed  I  can't  see  any  reason  for  it, 
though  I  'm  sorry  enough  it  is  so,  Miss  Emmy," 
declared  Eliza  when  she  had  listened  to  the 
tale.  "  Never  any  young  person  came  here 
before  who  didn't  look  upon  this  house  as  a 
kind  of  a  paradise." 

"I  know.  That's  just  the  way  Jean  and 
Bess  feel.  But  then  they  are  different  from 
me.  Everybody  likes  them,"  said  Emmy. 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  225 

"  And  pray  why  should  n't  they  like  yourself, 
miss,  I  'd  like  to  ask  ?  " 

"I  —  don't  —  know,"  slowly.  " I  'm  always 
getting  into  scrapes  and  making  mistakes,  and 
things  don't  happen  nicely  with  me  as  they  do 
with  them.  Just  think  of  all  the  misfortunes 
I  've  had  this  week  since  I  came  !  My  train 
was  late,  and  I  was  all  tired  out,  and  the  girls 
went  to  Niagara  without  me,  and  I  broke  Aunt 
Emma's  lock,  and  the  horse  ran  away,  and  now 
this  toothache  !  I  am  very  unfortunate." 

"  Well,  I  have  heard  of  other  people's  trains 
being  late  afore  now,"  replied  Eliza,  dryly. 
"  And  though  I  'm  sorry  you  did  n't  have  the 
trip  with  the  rest,  miss,  it  was  n't  nobody's  fault 
that  you  didn't  come  in  time.  It  was  a  pity 
about  the  lock,  to  be  sure  —  the  Madam  has  n't 
got  it  open  yet,  I  know  —  but  so  far  as  the  horse 
goes,  it 's  no  more  than  I  'm  always  expecting, 
letting  Miss  Lena  drive  out  by  herself  with 
them  vicious  little  rats  of  ponies.  And  God 
sent  your  toothache,  miss,  I  suppose  you  know 
that."  15 


226  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

"Well,  God  made  me  shy,  too,  I  suppose, 
and  that 's  my  worst  misfortune  of  all,"  declared 
Emmy. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,  either,"  remarked 
the  shrewd  old  Eliza.  "In  my  opinion,  what 
folks  call  shyness  is  very  often  just  another 
name  for  selfishness.  If  you  thought  about 
yourself  less  and  about  other  people  more,  Miss 
Emmy,  you  would  n't  be  so  shy,  as  you  call  it. 
You  '11  get  better  of  it  as  soon  as  you  're  old 
enough  to  find  out  that  for  the  most  part  of  the 
time  nobody  is  noticing  what  you  do  or  think- 
ing about  you  at  all." 

There  was  a  certain  tonic  in  this  speech  of 
Eliza's  which  did  Emmy  good.  She  lay  medi- 
tating upon  it  that  night  after  the  girls  had 
come  in  to  kiss  her  and  say  how  dreadfully 
they  had  missed  her  at  the  picnic,  and  how  she 
must  get  quite  well  before  next  Monday,  when 
they  were  going  to  have  another.  She  had 
slept  so  much  during  the  day  that  she  was  not 
sleepy  now,  and  she  lay  turning  over  in  her 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  227 

mind  what  Eliza  had  said.  Was  shyness  self- 
ishness? and  was  it  her  own  fault  that  she 
got  on  so  badly  and  made  so  many  mistakes  I 
or  was  she  really  marked  for  misfortune  and 
doomed  to  be  misunderstood,  as  she  had  some- 
times imagined  ?  She  thought  of  Bess  and  Jean 
with  a  little  wonderment  of  envy.  How  pretty 
and  nice  they  were !  how  people  liked  them  ! 
how  easy  it  seemed  to  them  to  be  graceful  and 
natural  and  at  ease  with  strangers  ! 

While  she  was  thus  thinking,  a  queer  little 
noise  met  her  ear,  like  some  one  snapping  two 
sticks  together.  Again  it  came  and  yet  again, 
and  Emmy  was  sure  that  she  smelt  a  slight 
smell  of  burning.  All  her  little  foolish  fancies 
fled  at  once.  She  jumped  out  of  bed,  lit  a 
candle,  slipped  on  her  dressing-gown,  and 
opened  the  door.  The  burning  smell  was 
stronger  in  the  entry,  and  the  air  was  dim  with 
smoke.  Not  nervous  now  nor  cowardly,  Emmy 
ran  down-stairs  with  all  her  wits  about  her,  fol- 
lowing the  smoke  till  she  came  to  Uncle  Tom's 


228  A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

office.  The  door  stood  half  open,  and  inside 
she  saw  a  flaring  light.  The  carpet  was  on  fire 
in  front  of  the  grate,  flames  were  creeping  up 
the  legs  of  the  table,  which  was  covered  with 
papers.  Emmy  knew  that  some  of  these  papers 
were  valuable,  and  without  a  thought  of  fear 
she  hurried  in,  gathered  as  many  as  she  could 
in  her  hands,  flung  them  into  the  hall,  ran  back 
for  more,  and  never  stopped  till  all  were  safe. 
Then  she  ran  to  Uncle  Tom's  dressing-closet 
for  a  pitcher  of  water  which  she  knew  was  kept 
there,  and  dashed  it  on  the  flames,  all  the  time 
calling  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  "  Fire  !  fire  ! 
fire !  O  Tom  !  O  aunty  !  O  Uncle  Tom !  O 
somebody !  Come,  please  come !  Oh,  why 
don't  you  hear !  " 

It  is  astonishing  how  long  it  takes  to  wake 
up  people  who  are  sound  asleep.  Emmy  had 
time  to  fetch  another  pitcher  of  water  from  the 
kitchen,  and  the  fire  was  nearly  out  before  the 
family  came  rushing  down,  half  dressed  and 
bewildered,  to  her  aid.  Fires  are  easily  man- 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  229 

aged  if  they  are  taken  in  hand  exactly  at  the 
right  time,  but  half  an  hour  more  or  less  makes 
a  great  difference.  Emmy  had  acted  at  the 
critical  moment,  and  her  courage  and  pres- 
ence of  mind  had  probably  saved  the  house. 

Uncle  Tom  declared  that  he  owed  her  ten 
thousand  dollars.  Part  of  this  debt  he  paid  the 
very  next  week  by  the  present  of  the  prettiest 
little  gold  watch  and  chain  ever  seen,  with  the 
date  of  the  fire  engraved  inside  the  watch-lid. 
Aunty,  too  much  agitated  to  speak,  folded 
Emmy  in  her  arms  and  gave  her  a  great 
squeeze  which  said  more  than  words.  Tom, 
when  he  understood  the  whole,,  said  that  she 
was  "  a  brick,"  and  that  not  one  girl  in  a  thou- 
sand would  have  been  so  plucky  or  shown  so 
much  sense.  So  poor,  awkward  Emmy,  who 
had  fared  so  ill  up  to  this  time,  got  up  next 
morning,  like  Lord  Byron,  to  find  herself  fa- 
mous, and  the  heroine  of  the  house. 

To  be  praised  and  made  much  of  does  some 
people  harm,  but  to  others  it  does  a  great  deal 


230  A    FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE. 

of  good.  Emmy  did  not  grow  vain  when  she 
found  herself  thus  made  important.  She  only 
felt  that  she  was  liked,  and  approved  of,  and 
it  set  her  at  her  ease.  From  that  day  Elliott's 
Mills  grew  delightful  to  her  as  it  had  always 
been  to  her  sisters.  She  ran  about  freely 
among  the  others,  talked,  laughed,  shared  in 
the  fun  that  was  going  on,  and  enjoyed  every 
moment  of  her  visit. 

Years  afterward,  when  she  and  Aunt  Emma 
had  grown  intimate,  Emmy  told  that  dear 
friend  and  relative  whom  she  had  learned  to 
love  and  admire  better  than  any  one  else  except 
her  own  mother,  the  story  of  her  foolish 
troubles. 

"But  indeed,"  she  ended,  "they  were  lucky 
troubles  to  me,  for  I  never  was  so  bad  after 
that.  I  think  what  old  Eliza  said  about  self- 
ishness stuck  in  my  mind,  and  I  found  out  after 
a  while  that  she  was  pretty  much  right,  and 
that  the  way  to  be  comfortable  and  at  ease  was 
to  think  about  other  people  instead  of  myself." 


A   FORTUNATE  MISFORTUNE.  231 

"  And  I  am  sure,"  replied  Aunt  Emma,  "  that 
your  troubles  were  lucky  troubles  for  us.  If 
you  had  n't  had  the  toothache  and  lain  awake 
meditating  on  that  and  your  other  sorrows, 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know  where  we  should  all 
be  now,  my  dear  little  Emmy." 


TOINETTE    AND    THE    EL  YES. 


HE  winter  sun  was  nearing  the  hori- 
zon's edge.  Each  moment  the  tree- 
shadows  grew  longer  in  the  forest ; 
each  moment  the  crimson  light  on  the  upper 
boughs  became  more  red  and  bright.  It  was 
Christmas  Eve,  or  would  be  in  half  an  hour, 
when  the  sun  should  be  fairly  set ;  but  it  did 
not  feel  like  Christmas,  for  the  afternoon  was 
mild  and  sweet,  and  the  wind  in  the  leafless 
boughs  sang,  as  it  moved  about,  as  though 
to  imitate  the  vanished  birds.  Soft  trills  and 
whistles,  odd  little  shakes  and  twitters,  —  it  was 
astonishing  what  pretty  noises  the  wind  made, 
for  it  was  in  good  humor,  as  winds  should  be 
on  the  Blessed  Night ;  all  its  storm-tones  and 


TOINETTE  AND   THE  ELVES.  233 

bass-notes  were  for  the  moment  laid  aside,  and 
gently,  as  though  hushing  a  baby  to  sleep,  it 
cooed  and  rustled  and  brushed  to  and  fro  in  the 
leafless  woods. 

Toinette  stood,  pitcher  in  hand,  beside  the 
well.  "  Wishing  Well,"  the  people  called  it, 
for  they  believed  that  if  any  one  standing 
there,  bowed  to  the  East,  repeated  a  certain 
rhyme  and  wished  a  wish,  the  wish  would  cer- 
tainly come  true.  Unluckily,  nobody  knew 
exactly  what  the  rhyme  should  be.  Toinette 
did  not ;  she  was  wishing  that  she  did,  as  she 
stood  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  bubbling 
water.  How  nice  it  would  be!  she  thought. 
What  beautiful  things  should  be  hers,  if  it  were 
only  to  wish  and  to  have  !  She  would  be 
beautiful,  rich,  good — oh,  so  good  !  The  chil- 
dren should  love  her  dearly,  and  never  be  dis- 
agreeable. Mother  should  not  work  so  hard  — 
they  should  all  go  back  to  France  —  which 
mother  said  was  si  belle.  Oh,  dear,  how  nice  it 
would  be  !  Meantime,  the  sun  sank  lower,  and 


234  TOINETTE  AND   THE  ELVES. 

mother  at  home  was  waiting  for  the  water,  but 
Toinette  forgot  that. 

Suddenly  she  started.  A  low  sound  of  cry- 
ing met  her  ear,  and  something  like  a  tiny 
moan.  It  seemed  close  by,  but  she  saw 
nothing. 

Hastily  she  filled  her  pitcher,  and  turned  to 
go.  But  again  the  sound  came,  an  unmistak- 
able sob,  right  under  her  feet.  Toinette  stopped 
short 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  called  out  bravely. 

"  Is  anybody  there  ;  and  if  there  is,  why  don't 
I  see  you  ?  " 

A  third  sob  —  and  all  at  once,  down  on  the 
ground  beside  her,  a  tiny  figure  became  visible, 
so  small  that  Toinette  had  to  kneel  and  stoop 
her  head  to  see  it  plainly.  The  figure  was  that 
of  an  odd  little  man.  He  wore  a  garb  of  green, 
bright  and  glancing  as  the  scales  of  a  beetle. 
In  his  mite  of  a  hand  was  a  cap,  out  of  which 
stuck  a  long-pointed  feather.  Two  specks  of 
tears  stood  on  his  cheeks,  and  he  fixed  on 


TOINETTE  AND    THE  ELVES.  235 

Toinette  a  glance  so  sharp  and  so  sad,  that  it 
made  her  feel  sorry  and  frightened  and  confused 
all  at  once. 

"  Why,  how  funny  this  is  !  "  she  said,  speak- 
ing to  herself  out  loud. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  little  man,  in  a  voice 
as  dry  and  crisp  as  the  chirr  of  a  grasshopper. 
"Anything  but  funny.  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
use  such  words.  It  hurts  my  feelings, 
Toinette." 

"  Do  you  know  my  name,  then  ?  "  cried  Toi- 
nette, astonished.  "  That 's  strange  !  But  what 
is  the  matter  1  Why  are  you  crying  so,  little 
maul" 

"  I  'm  not  a  little  man.  1 'm  an  elf,"  responded 
the  dry  voice;  "and  I  think  you'd  cry  if  you 
had  an  engagement  out  to  tea,  and  found  your- 
self spiked  on  a  great  bayonet,  so  that  you 
could  n't  move  an  inch.  Look  !  "  He  turned  a 
little  as  he  spoke,  and  Toinette  saw  a  long  rose- 
thorn  sticking  through  the  back  of  the  green 
robe.  The  little  man  could  by  no  means  reach 


236  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES. 

the  thorn,  and  it  held  him  fast  prisoner  to 
the  place. 

"Is  that  all!  I'll  take  it  out  for  you,"  she 
said. 

"Be  careful  —  oh,  be  careful!"  entreated  the 
little  man.  "  This  is  my  new  dress,  you 
know  —  my  Christmas  suit,  and  it  's  got  to  last 
a  year.  If  there  is  a  hole  in  it,  Peascod  will 
tickle  me,  and  Bean  Blossom  tease  till  I  shall 
wish  myself  dead."  He  stamped  with  vexation 
at  the  thought. 

"Now,  you  mustn't  do  that,"  said  Toinette, 
in  a  motherly  tone,  "  else  you  '11  tear  it  yourself, 
you  know."  She  broke  off  the  thorn  as  she 
spoke,  and  gently  drew  it  out.  The  elf  anx- 
iously examined  the  stuff.  A  tiny  puncture 
only  was  visible,  and  his  face  brightened. 

"  You  're  a  good  child,"  he  said.  "  I  '11  do  as 
much  for  you  some  day,  perhaps." 

"  I  would  have  come  before  if  I  had  seen 
you,"  remarked  Toinette,  timidly.  "But  I 
didn't  see  you  a  bit." 


TOINETTE  AND   THE  ELVES.  237 

"  No,  because  I  had  my  cap  on,"  replied  the 
elf.  He  placed  it  on  his  head  as  he  spoke,  and, 
hey,  presto !  nobody  was  there,  only  a  voice 
which  laughed  and  said:  "  Well  —  don't  stare  so. 
Lay  your  finger  on  me  now." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Toinette,  with  a  gasp.  "  How 
wonderful !  What  fun  it  must  be  to  do  that ! 
The  children  would  n't  see  me.  I  should  steal 
in  and  surprise  them  ;  they  would  go  on  talking, 
and  never  guess  that  I  was  there  !  I  should 
so  like  it !  Do  elves  ever  lend  their  caps  to 
anybody  ?  I  wish  you  7d  lend  me  yours.  It 
must  be  so  nice  to  be  invisible  !  " 

"  Ho  ! "  cried  the  elf,  appearing  suddenly 
again.  "  Lend  my  cap,  indeed  !  Why,  it 
would  n't  stay  on  the  very  tip  of  your  ear,  it 's 
so  small.  As  for  nice,  that  depends.  Some- 
times it  is,  and  sometimes  it  is  n't  No,  the 
only  way  for  mortal  people  to  be  invisible 
is  to  gather  the  fern-seed  and  put  it  in  their 
shoes." 

"  Gather  it  ?      Where  ?      I  never  saw  any 


238  TOINETTE  AND    THE  ELVES. 

seed  to  the  ferns,"  said  Toinette,  staring  about 
her. 

"  Of  course  not — we  elves  take  care  of  that," 
replied  the  little  man.  "  Nobody  finds  the 
fern-seed  but  ourselves.  1 11  tell  you  what, 
though.  You  were  such  a  nice  child  to  take 
out  the  thorn  so  cleverly,  that  1 '11  give  you  a 
little  of  the  seed.  Then  you  can  try  the  fun 
of  being  invisible,  to  your  heart's  content." 

"Will  you  really!  How  delightful!  May 
I  have  it  now  ?  " 

"  Bless  me  !  do  you  think  I  carry  my  pocket 
stuffed  with  it !  "  said  the  elf.  "  Not  at  all.  Go 
home,  say  not  a  word  to  anybody,  but  leave 
your  bedroom  window  open  to-night,  and 
you  '11  see  what  you  '11  see." 

He  laid  his  finger  on  his  nose  as  he  spoke, 
gave  a  jump  like  a  grasshopper,  clapping  on 
his  cap  as  he  went,  and  vanished.  Toinette 
lingered  a  moment,  in  hopes  that  he  might 
come  back,  then  took  her  pitcher  and  hurried 
home.  The  woods  were  very  dusky  by  this 


TOINETTE  AND   THE   ELVES.  239 

time ;  but,  full  of  her  strange  adventure,  she 
did  not  remember  to  feel  afraid. 

"  How  long  you  have  been  !  "  said  her  mother. 
"It's  late  for  a  little  maid  like  you  to  be  up. 
You  must  make  better  speed  another  time,  my 
child." 

Toinette  pouted,  as  she  was  apt  to  do  when 
reproved.  The  children  clamored  to  know  what 
had  kept  her,  and  she  spoke  pettishly  and 
crossly;  so  that  they  too  became  cross,  and 
presently  went  away  into  the  outer  kitchen  to 
play  by  themselves.  The  children  were  apt  to 
creep  away  when  Toinette  came.  It  made  her 
angry  and  unhappy  at  times  that  they  should 
do  so,  but  she  did  not  realize  that  it  was  in 
great  part  her  own  fault,  and  so  did  not  set 
herself  to  mend  it. 

"  Tell  me  a  'tory,"  said  baby  Jeanneton, 
creeping  to  her  knee  a  little  later.  But  Toi- 
nette's  head  was  full  of  the  elf;  she  had  no 
time  to  spare  for  Jeanneton. 

"Oh,  not  to-night!"  she  replied.  "  Ask 
mother  to  tell  you  one." 


240  TOINETTE  AND   THE  ELVES. 

"  Mother  's  busy,"  said  Jeanne  ton,  wistfully. 

Toinette  took  no  notice,  and  the  little  one 
crept  away  disconsolately. 

Bedtime  at  last.  Toinette  set  the  casement 
open,  and  lay  a  long  time  waiting  and  watching ; 
then  she  fell  asleep.  She  waked  with  a  sneeze 
and  jump,  and  sat  up  in  bed.  Behold,  on  the 
coverlet  stood  her  elfin  friend,  with  a  long  train 
of  other  elves  beside  him,  all  clad  in  the  beetle- 
wing  green,  and  wearing  little  pointed  caps  ! 
More  were  coming  in  at  the  window ;  outside  a 
few  were  drifting  about  in  the  moon-rays,  which 
lit  their  sparkling  robes  till  they  glittered  like 
so  many  fire-flies.  The  odd  thing  was,  that 
though  the  caps  were  on,  Toinette  could  see 
the  elves  distinctly,  and  this  surprised  her  so 
much,  that  again  she  thought  out  loud,  and 
said,  "  How  funny  !  " 

"  You  mean  about  the  caps,"  replied  her 
special  elf,  who  seemed  to  have  the  power  of 
reading  thoughts.  "  Yes,  you  can  see  us  to- 
night, caps  and  all.  Spells  lose  their  value  on 


TO  I N ETT E  AND   THE  ELVES.  241 

Christmas  Eve,  always.  Peascod,  where  is  the 
box  ?  Do  you  still  wish  to  try  the  experiment 
of  being  invisible,  Toinette  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes  — indeed  I  do!" 

"  Very  well  —  so  let  it  be  !  " 

Afc  he  spoke  he  beckoned,  and  two  elves, 
puffing  and  panting  like  men  with  a  heavy  load, 
dragged  forward  a  droll  little  box  about  the 
size  of  a  pumpkin-seed.  One  of  them  lifted 
the  cover. 

"Pay  the  porter,  please,  ma'am,"  he  said, 
giving  Toinette's  ear  a  mischievous  tweak 
with  his  sharp  fingers. 

"  Hands  off,  you  bad  Peascod !  "  cried  Toi- 
nette's elf.  "  This  is  my  girl.  She  shan't  be 
pinched."  He  dealt  Peascod  a  blow  with  his 
tiny  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  looked  so  brave  and 
warlike  that  he  seemed  at  least  an  inch  taller 
than  he  had  before.  Toinette  admired  him 
very  much  ;  and  Peascod  slunk  away  with  an 
abashed  giggle,  muttering  that  Thistle  need  n't 
be  so  ready  with  his  fist. 

16 


242  TOINETTE  AND    THE   ELVES. 

Thistle  —  for  thus,  it  seemed,  Toinette's  friend 
was  named  —  dipped  his  fingers  in  the  box, 
which  was  full  of  fine  brown  seeds,  and  shook 
a  handful  into  each  of  Toinette's  shoes,  as  they 
stood,  toes  together,  by  the  bedside. 

u  Now  you  have  your  wish,"  he  said,  "and 
can  go  about  and  do  what  you  like,  no  one  see- 
ing. The  charm  will  end  at  sunset.  Make  the 
most  of  it  while  you  can ;  but  if  you  want  to 
end  it  sooner,  shake  the  seeds  from  the  shoes, 
and  then  you  are  just  as  usual." 

"  Oh,  I  shan't  want  to,"  protested  Toinette ; 
"  I  'm  sure  I  shan't." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Thistle,  with  a  mocking 
little  laugh. 

"  Good-by,  and  thank  you  ever  so  much," 
replied  Toinette. 

"  Good-by,  good-by,"  replied  the  other  elves, 
in  shrill  chorus.  They  clustered  together,  as  if 
in  consultation ;  then  straight  out  of  the  win- 
dow they  flew  like  a  swarm  of  gauzy-winged 
bees,  and  melted  into  the  moonlight.  Toinette 


TOINETTE  AND    THE  ELVES.  243 

jumped  up  and  ran  to  watch  them  ;  but  the  little 
men  were  gone  —  not  a  trace  of  them  was  to 
be  seen ;  so  she  shut  the  window,  went  back  to 
bed,  and  presently,  in  the  midst  of  her  amazed 
and  excited  thoughts,  fell  asleep. 

She  waked  in  the  morning  with  a  queer, 
doubtful  feeling.  Had  she  dreamed,  or  had  it 
really  happened  ?  She  put  on  her  best  petticoat, 
and  laced  her  blue  bodice  ;  for  she  thought  the 
mother  would  perhaps  take  them  across  the 
wood  to  the  little  chapel  for  the  Christmas 
service.  Her  long  hair  smoothed  and  tied,  her 
shoes  trimly  fastened,  down-stairs  she  ran.  The 
mother  was  stirring  porridge  over  the  fire. 
Toinette  went  close  to  her,  but  she  did  not 
move  or  turn  her  head. 

"  How  late  the  children  are  !  "  she  said  at  last, 
lifting  the  boiling  pot  on  the  hob.  Then  she 
went  to  the  stair-foot,  and  called,  "  Marc, 
Jeanneton,  Pierre,  Marie  !  Breakfast  is  ready, 
my  children.  Toinette  —  but  where,  then,  is 
Toinette  ?  She  is  used  to  be  down  long  before 
this." 


244  TO1NETTE  AND    THE  ELVES. 

"  Toinette  is  n't  up-stairs,"  said  Marie,  from 
above.  "  Her  door  is  wide  open,  and  she  isn't 
there." 

"  That  is  strange  !  "  said  the  mother.  "  I 
have  been  here  an  hour,  and  she  has  not  passed 
this  way  since."  She  went  to  the  outer  door 
and  called,  "  Toinette  !  Toinette !  "  —  passing 
close  to  Toinette  as  she  did  so,  and  looking 
straight  at  her  with  unseeing  eyes.  Toinette, 
half  frightened,  half  pleased,  giggled  low  to 
herself.  She  really  was  invisible  then  !  How 
strange  it  seemed,  and  what  fun  it  was  going 
to  be! 

The  children  sat  down  to  breakfast,  little 
Jeanneton,  as  the  youngest,  saying  grace.  The 
mother  distributed  the  hot  porridge,  and  gave 
each  a  spoon,  but  she  looked  anxious. 

"  Where  can  Toinette  have  gone?"  she  said 
to  herself. 

Toinette  was  conscience-pricked.  She  was 
half  inclined  to  dispel  the  charm  on  the  spot. 
But  just  then  she  caught  a  whisper  from  Pierre 


TOINETTE  AND    THE  ELVES.  245 

to  Marc,  which  so  surprised  her  as  to  put  the 
idea  out  of  her  head. 

"  Perhaps  a  wolf  has  eaten  her  up  —  a  great 
big  wolf,  like  the  '  Capuchon  Rouge/  you 
know."  This  was  what  Pierre  said ;  and  Marc 
answered,  unfeelingly,  — 

11  If  he  has,  I  shall  ask  mother  to  let  me  have 
her  room  for  my  own  !  " 

Poor  Toinette !  her  cheeks  burnt  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears  at  this.  Did  n't  the  boys 
love  her  a  bit,  then?  Next  she  grew  angry, 
and  longed  to  box  Marc's  ears,  only  she  recol- 
lected in  time  that  she  was  invisible.  What  a 
bad  boy,  he  was  !  she  thought. 

The  smoking  porridge  reminded  her  that  she 
was  hungry;  so  brushing  away  the  tears,  she 
slipped  a  spoon  off  the  table,  and  whenever  she 
found  the  chance,  dipped  it  into  the  bowl  for  a 
mouthful.  The  porridge  disappeared  rapidly. 

"  I  want  some  more,"  said  Jeanneton. 

"  Bless  me,  how  fast  you  have  eaten !  "  said 
the  mother,  turning  to  the  bowl. 


246  TOINETTE   AND   THE  ELVES. 

This  made  Toinette  laugh,  which  shook  her 
spoon,  and  a  drop  of  the  hot  mixture  fell  right 
on  the  tip  of  Marie's  nose,  as  she  sat  with 
upturned  face  waiting  her  turn  for  a  second 
helping.  Marie  gave  a  little  scream. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  the  mother. 

"  Hot  water  !  Right  in  my  face  ! "  spluttered 
Marie. 

"  Water !  "  cried  Marc.     "  It 's  porridge." 

"  You  spattered  with  your  spoon.  Eat  more 
carefully,  my  child,"  said  the  mother ;  and 
Toinette  laughed  again  as  she  heard  her. 
After  all,  there  was  some  fun  in  being  in- 
visible ! 

The  morning  went  by.  Constantly  the 
mother  went  to  the  door,  and,  shading  her  eyes 
with  her  hand,  looked  out,  in  hopes  of  seeing  a 
little  figure  come  down  the  wood-path,  for  she 
thought,  perhaps  the  child  went  to  the  spring 
after  water,  and  fell  asleep  there.  The  children 
played  happily,  meanwhile.  They  were  used 
to  doing  without  Toinette,  and  did  not  seem  to 


TOINETTE  AND    THE   ELVES.  247 

miss  her,  except  that  now  and  then  baby  Jean- 
rieton  said:  "Poor  Toinette  gone  —  not  here 
—  all  gone  !  " 

"Well,  what  if  she  has?"  said  Marc  at  last, 
looking  up  from  the  wooden  cup  he  was  carving 
for  Marie's  doll.  "  We  can  play  all  the  better." 

Marc  was  a  bold,  outspoken  boy,  who  always 
told  his  whole  mind  about  things. 

"  If  she  were  here,"  he  went  on,  "  she  'd  only 
scold  and  interfere.  Toinette  almost  always 
scolds.  I  like  to  have  her  go  away.  It  makes 
it  pleasanter." 

"It  is  rather  pleasanter,"  admitted  Marie, 
"only  I'd  like  her  to  be  having  a  nice  time 
somewhere  else." 

"  Bother  about  Toinette  ! "  cried  Pierre. 
"Let's  play  '  My  godmother  has  cabbage  to 
sell.'" 

I  don't  think  Toinette  had  ever  felt  so  un- 
happy in  her  life,  as  when  she  stood  by  unseen, 
and  heard  the  children  say  these  words.  She 
had  never  meant  to  be  unkind  to  them,  but  she 


248  TOINETTE  AND   THE  ELVES. 

was  quick-tempered,  dreamy,  wrapped  up  in 
herself.  She  did  not  like  being  interrupted  by 
them,  it  put  her  out,  and  then  she  spoke  sharply 
and  was  cross.  She  had  taken  it  for  granted 
that  the  others  must  love  her,  by  a  sort  of  right, 
and  the  knowledge  that  they  did  not  grieved 
her  very  much.  Creeping  away,  she  hid  her- 
self in  the  woods.  It  was  a  sparkling  day,  but 
the  sun  did  not  look  so  bright  as  usual.  Cuddled 
down  under  a  rose-bush,  Toinette  sat  sobbing 
as  if  her  heart  would  break  at  the  recollection 
of  the  speeches  she  had  overheard. 

By  and  by  a  little  voice  within  her  woke  up 
and  began  to  make  itself  audible.  All  of  us 
know  this  little  voice.  We  call  it  conscience. 

"  Jeanneton  missed  me,"  she  thought.  "  And, 
oh  dear !  I  pushed  her  away  only  last  night 
and  would  n't  tell  her  a  story.  And  Marie 
hoped  I  was  having  a  pleasant  time  some- 
where. I  wish  I  hadn't  slapped  Marie  last 
Friday.  And  I  wish  I  had  n't  thrown  Marc's 
ball  into  the  fire  that  day  I  was  angry  with 


TOINETTE  AND   THE  ELVES.  240 

him.  How  unkind  he  was  to  say  that  —  but 
I  was  n't  always  kind  to  him.  And  once  I  said 
that  I  wished  a  bear  would  eat  Pierre  up.  That 
was  because  he  broke  my  cup.  Oh  dear,  oh 
dear !  What  a  bad  girl  I  Ve  been  to  them  all !  " 

"But  you  could  be  better  and  kinder  if  you 
tried,  could  n't  you  ?  "  said  the  inward  voice. 
"  I  think  you  could."  And  Toinette  clasped 
her  hands  tight  and  said  out  loud  :  "  I  could- 
Yes  — and  I  will." 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  get  rid  of 
the  fern-seed,  which  she  now  regarded  as  a 
hateful  thing.  She  untied  her  shoes  and  shook 
it  out  in  the  grass.  It  dropped,  and  seemed  to 
melt  into  the  air,  for  it  instantly  vanished.  A 
mischievous  laugh  sounded  close  behind,  and 
a  beetle-green  coat-tail  was  visible,  whisking 
under  a  tuft  of  rushes.  But  Toinette  had  had 
enough  of  the  elves,  and,  tying  her  shoes,  took 
the  road  toward  home,  running  with  all  her 
might. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  day,  Toinette  I" 


250  TOINETTE  AND    THE  ELVES. 

cried  the  children,  as,  breathless  and  panting, 
she  flew  in  at  the  gate.  But  Toinette  could  not 
speak.  She  made  slowly  for  her  mother,  who 
stood  in  the  doorway,  flung  herself  into  her 
arms,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  Ma  cherie,  what  is  it,  whence  hast  thou 
come  ?  "  asked  the  good  mother,  alarmed.  She 
lifted  Toinette  into  her  arms  as  she  spoke,  and 
hastened  indoors.  The  other  children  followed, 
whispering  and  peeping,  but  the  mother  sent 
them  away,  and,  sitting  down  by  the  fire  with 
Toinette  in  her  lap,  she  rocked  and  hushed  and 
comforted,  as  though  Toinette  had  been  again 
a  little  baby.  Gradually  the  sobs  ceased.  For 
a  while  Toinette  lay  quiet,  with  her  head  on  her 
mother's  breast.  Then  she  wiped  her  wet  eyes, 
put  her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck,  and 
told  her  all  from  the  very  beginning,  keeping 
not  a  single  thing  back.  The  dame  listened 
with  alarm. 

"  Saints  protect  us,"  she  muttered.  Then 
feeling  Toinette's  hands  and  head,  "  Thou  hast 


TOINETTE  AND    THE  ELVES.  251 

a  fever,"  she  said.  "  I  will  make  thee  a  tisane, 
my  darling,  and  thou  must  at  once  go  to  bed." 
Toinette  vainly  protested ;  to  bed  she  went,  and 
perhaps  it  was  the  wisest  thing,  for  the  warm 
drink  threw  her  into  a  long,  sound  sleep,  and 
when  she  woke  she  was  herself  again,  bright 
and  well,  hungry  for  dinner,  and  ready  to  do 
her  usual  tasks. 

Herself,  —  but  not  quite  the  same  Toinette 
that  she  had  been  before.  Nobody  changes 
from  bad  to  better  in  a  minute.  It  takes  time 
for  that,  time  and  effort,  and  a  long  struggle 
with  evil  habits  and  tempers.  But  there  is 
sometimes  a  certain  minute  or  day  in  which 
people  begin  to  change,  and  thus  it  was  with 
Toinette.  The  fairy  lesson  was  not  lost  upon 
her.  She  began  to  fight  with  herself,  to  watch 
her  faults  and  try  to  conquer  them.  It  was 
hard  work  ;  often  she  felt  discouraged,  but  she 
kept  on.  Week  after  week  and  month  after 
month  she  grew  less  selfish,  kinder,  more  oblig- 
ing than  she  used  to  be.  When  she  failed,  and 


252  TOINETTE  AND    THE  ELVES. 

her  old  fractious  temper  got  the  better  of  her, 
she  was  sorry,  and  begged  every  one's  pardon 
so  humbly  that  they  could  not  but  forgive. 
The  mother  began  to  think  that  the  elves  really 
had  bewitched  her  child.  As  for  the  children, 
they  learned  to  love  Toinette  as  never  before, 
and  came  to  her  with  all  their  pains  and  pleas- 
ures, as  children  should  to  a  kind  older  sister. 
Each  fresh  proof  of  this,  every  kiss  from  Jean- 
neton,  every  confidence  from  Marc,  was  a  com- 
fort to  Toinette,  for  she  never  forgot  Christmas 
Day,  and  felt  that  no  trouble  was  too  much  to 
wipe  out  that  unhappy  recollection.  "I  think 
they  like  me  better  than  they  did  then,"  she 
would  say ;  but  then  the  thought  came,  "  Per- 
haps if  I  were  invisible  again,  if  they  did  not 
know  I  was  there,  I  might  hear  something  to 
make  me  feel  as  badly  as  I  did  that  morning." 
These  sad  thoughts  were  part  of  the  bitter  fruit 
of  the  fairy  fern-seed. 

So  with  doubts  and  fears  the  year  went  by, 
and  again  it  was  Christinas  Eve.     Toinette  had 


TUIXETTE   A\D    THE   ELVES.  L>  ;"),"> 

been  asleep  some  hours,  when  she  was  roused 
by  a  sharp  tapping  at  the  window-pane. 
Startled  and  only  half  awake,  she  sat  up  in 
bed,  and  saw  by  the  moonlight  a  tiny  figure 
outside,  which  she  recognized.  It  was  Thistle, 
drumming  with  his  knuckles  on  the  glass. 

"  Let  me  in,"  cried  the  dry  little  voice.  So 
Toinette  opened  the  casement,  and  Thistle  flew 
in  and  perched,  as  before,  on  the  coverlet. 

"  Merry  Christmas,  my  girl,"  he  said,  "and  a 
Happy  New  Year  when  it  comes !  I've  brought 
you  a  present ;  "  and,  dipping  into  a  pouch  tied 
round  his  waist,  he  pulled  out  a  handful  of 
something  brown.  Toinette  knew  what  it  was 
in  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  cried,  shrinking  back.  "  Don't 
give  me  any  fern-seeds.  They  frighten  me.  I 
don't  like  them." 

"  Now,  don't  be  silly,"  said  Thistle,  his  voice 
sounding  kind  this  time,  and  earnest.  "  It 
was  n't  pleasant  being  invisible  last  year,  but 
perhaps  this  year  it  will  be.  Take  my  advice, 
and  try  it.  You  '11  not  be  sorry." 


254  TOINETTE   A  AD    THE   ELVES. 

"  Shan't  I  ?  "  said  Toinette,  brightening. 
"  Very  well  then,  I  will."  She  leaned  out  of 
bed,  and  watched  Thistle  strew  the  fine,  dust- 
like  grains  in  each  shoe. 

"  I  '11  drop  in  to-morrow  night,  and  just  see 
how  you  like  it,"  he  said.  Then,  with  a  nod, 
he  was  gone. 

The  old  fear  came  back  when  she  woke  in 
the  morning,  and  she  tied  on  her  shoes  with  a 
tremble  at  her  heart.  Down-stairs  she  stole. 
The  first  thing  she  saw  was  a  wooden  ship 
standing  on  her  plate.  Marc  had  made  the 
ship,  but  Toinette  had  no  idea  that  it  was 
for  her. 

The  little  ones  sat  round  the  table  with  their 
eyes  on  the  door,  watching  till  Toinette  should 
come  in,  and  be  surprised. 

"I  wish  she  'd  hurry,"  said  Pierre,  drumming 
on  his  bowl  with  a  spoon. 

"  We  all  want  Toinette,  don't  we  ?  "  said  the 
mother,  smiling  as  she  poured  the  hot  por- 
ridge. 


TOILETTE   AM)    THE   ELVES.  2f)f) 

"  It  will  be  fun  to  see  her  stare,"  declared 
Marc.  "  Toinette  is  jolly  when  she  stares. 
Her  eyes  look  big,  and  her  cheeks  grow  pink. 
Andre Brugen  thinks  his  sister  Aline  is  prettiest, 
but  I  don't.  Our  Toinette  is  ever  so  pretty." 

"She  is  ever  so  nice,  too,"  said  Pierre. 
"  She  7s  as  good  to  play  with  as — as  —  a  boy  !  " 
he  finished  triumphantly. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  my  Toinette  would  come  !  "  said 
Jeanneton. 

Toinette  waited  no  longer,  but  sped  up- stairs 
with  glad  tears  in  her  eyes.  Two  minutes,  and 
down  she  came  again,  visible  this  time.  Her 
heart  was  lig-ht  as  a  feather. 

o 

"  Merry  Christmas  !  "  clamored  the  children. 
The  ship  was  presented,  Toinette  was  duly  sur- 
prised, and  so  the  happy  day  began. 

That  night  Toinette  left  the  window  open, 
and  lay  down  in  her  clothes ;  for  she  felt,  as 
Thistle  had  been  so  kind,  she  ought  to  receive 
him  politely.  He  came  at  midnight,  and  with 
him  all  the  other  little  men  in  green. 


256  TOINETTE   AND    THE   ELVES. 

"Well,  how  was  it?"  asked  Thistle. 

"  Oh,  I  liked  it  this  time,"  declared  Toinette, 
with  shining  eyes.  "  And  I  thank  you  so 
much ! " 

"  I  'm  glad  you  did,"  said  the  elf.  "  And  I  'm 
glad  you  are  thankful,  for  we  want  you  to  do 
something  for  us." 

"  What  can  it  be  ?  "  inquired  Toinette,  won- 
dering. 

"You  must  know,"  went  on  Thistle,  "that 
there  is  no  dainty  in  the  world  which  we  elves 
enjoy  like  a  bowl  of  fern-seed  broth.  But  it 
has  to  be  cooked  over  a  real  fire,  and  we  dare 
not  go  near  fire,  you  know,  lest  our  wings 
scorch.  So  we  seldom  get  any  fern-seed  broth. 
Now,  Toinette  —  will  you  make  us  some  $  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  cried  Toinette,  "  only  you 
must  tell  me  how." 

"It  is  very  simple,"  said  Peascod ;  "  only 
seed  and  honey  dew,  stirred  from  left  to  right 
with  a  sprig  of  fennel.  Here 's  the  seed  and 
the  fennel,  and  here  ?s  the  dew.  Be  sure  and 


TOINETTE  AND    THE   ELVES.  257 

stir  from  the  left ;  if  you  don't,  it  curdles,  and 
the  flavor  will  be  spoiled." 

Down  into  the  kitchen  they  went,  and  Toi- 
nette,  moving  very  softly,  quickened  the  fire, 
set  on  the  smallest  bowl  she  could  find,  and 
spread  the  doll's  table  with  the  wooden  saucers 
which  Marc  had  made  for  Jeanneton  to  play 
with.  Then  she  mixed  and  stirred  as  the  elves 
bade,  and  when  the  soup  was  done,  served  it 
to  them  smoking  hot.  How  they  feasted  !  No 
bumble-bee,  dipping  into  a  flower-cup,  ever 
sipped  and  twinkled  more  rapturously  than 
they. 

When  the  last  drop  was  eaten,  they  made 
ready  to  go.  Each,  in  turn,  kissed  Toinette's 
hand,  and  said  a  little  word  of  farewell. 
Thistle  brushed  his  feathered  cap  over  the  door- 
post as  he  passed. 

u  Be  lucky,  house,"  he  said,  "for  you  have 
received  and  entertained  the  luck-bringers. 
And  be  lucky,  Toinette.  Good  temper  is  good 
luck,  and  sweet  words  and  kind  looks  and 


TOINETTE  AND    THE  ELVES. 

peace  in  the  heart  are  the  fairest  of  fortunes. 
See  that  you  never  lose  them  again,  my  girl." 
With  this,  he  too  kissed  Toinette's  hand,  waved 
his  feathered  cap,  and  —  whir !  they  all  were 
gone,  while  Toinette,  covering  the  fire  with 
ashes,  and  putting  aside  the  little  cups,  stole  up 
to  her  bed  a  happy  child. 


JEAN'S  MONEY,  AND   WHAT  IT   BOUGHT. 


|HE  last  recitation  of  the  last  day  of 
the  district  school-term  was  over, 
and  the  boys  and  girls  shut  their 
books  and  put  away  slates  and  pencils,  with 
a  glad  sense  of  liberty  immediately  at  hand, 
which  made  it  doubly  hard  to  sit  still  for  the 
few  remaining  moments.  Jean  Thompson, 
their  teacher,  was  almost  as  impatient  as  they. 
She  was  but  seventeen,  scarcely  older  than  her 
oldest  scholar,  and  in  her  joy  at  getting  through 
the  term  would  doubtless  have  made  short  work 
of  the  closing  exercises,  had  not  Mr.  Gillicraft 
been  there.  Mr.  Gillicraft  was  the  senior  mem- 
ber of  the  school  board,  —  a  slow,  formal  man, 
who  liked  things  done  ceremoniously,  so  for 


260  JEAN'S  MONEY, 

his  sake  there  had  to  be  a  little  delay.  He 
made  a  speech  to  the  children,  speaking  at 
length  and  deliberately.  They  were  all  pleased 
to  have  vacation  begin,  no  doubt,  but  he  hoped, 
etc.  He  was  sure  they  would  join  him  in  thank- 
ing their  excellent  teacher,  Miss  Thompson,  for 
the  judicious  manner  in  which,  etc.  He  trusted 
the  moral  discipline  inculcated  during  the  term 
would  not,  etc.  And  he  hoped  some  at  least  of 
them  would  find  time  to  study  somewhat  during 
the  vacation,  and  thus  redeem  time  which  other- 
wise would  be  idly  spent.  The  children  fidgeted 
dreadfully  during  these  remarks.  The  blue  sky 
and  bright  air  wooed  and  coaxed  them  through 
the  open  door;  their  feet  were  dancing  with 
impatience,  how  could  they  attend  to  Mr.  Gilli- 
craft  ?  At  last  the  end  came,  the  long-desired 
bell  tinkled ;  and  whooping,  jumping,  rioting, 
out  they  all  rushed  into  their  twelve  weeks' 
freedom.  One  or  two  of  the  lesser  girls  waited 
to  kiss  "  Teacher"  for  good-by ;  then  they 
followed  the  rest. 


AND    WHAT  IT  BOUGHT.  261 

When  the  last  child  was  gone,  Mr.  Gillicraft 
approached  Jean,  who  was  setting  matters 
straight  in  her  desk.  His  hand  was  in  his 
pocket,  from  which  he  presently  drew  a  fat 
leathern  wallet. 

"  Ahem  !  "  he  said.  "  It  is  my  duty  and  my 
privilege,  too,  as  I  may  say,  to  hand  you  this, 
Miss  Thompson."  Mr.  Gillicraft  called  her 
"  Jean"  usually,  having  known  her  all  her  life, 
but  this  was  a  formal  occasion.  "  Nine  —  ten  — 
eleven,"  he  went  on,  counting  the  bills  which 
he  had  drawn  from  his  wallet —  "  twelve.  You 
will  find  that  correct,  I  believe,  $120,  and  I 
desire  to  say,  in  the  name  of  the  board,  that  we 
are  quite  satisfied  with  the  manner  in  which 
you  have  conducted  the  school,  and  gratified 
at  your  decision  to  continue  with  us  during  the 
ensuing  year." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jean,  modestly. 

"  Count  it,"  remarked  Mr.  Gillicraft,  dropping 
the  official  and  resuming  the  friend  —  "always 
count  your  money,  Jean,  it's  business-like. 


262  JEAtfS  MONEY, 

And  don't  put  it  loose  in  your  pocket  —  that  's 
a  careless  trick.  You  never  had  so  much  money 
at  a  time  before  in  your  life,  did  you  ?  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  it  all  ?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  know  yet,"  replied  Jean,  "  I 
shall  have  to  talk  with  father  about  it.  I  '11 
lock  the  door  now,  Mr.  Gillicraft,  if  you  're 
ready,  and  give  you  the  key." 

11  Have  you  got  it?"  whispered  her  brother 
James,  as  Mr.  Gillicraft  and  the  key  disappeared 
around  the  corner.  "  Have  you  got  it,  Jean  ?  " 

Jean  nodded. 

"  How  splendid,"  said  Elsie,  a  younger  sister, 
coming  to  Jean's  other  side.  "  Show  me.  Oh  ! 
What  a  lot  of  money  !  " 

"  What  will  you  get  with  it?  "  asked  James. 
"  Don't  I  wish  it  was  mine !  I  know  well 
enough  what  I  would  buy." 

"  So  do  I,"  chimed  in  Elsie. 

"  What?  "  said  Jean,  with  a  smile. 

"A  piano  !  And  the  dearest  little  dog — just 
like  Ruth  Parsons's  dog,  if  I  could  find  one. 


AND    WHAT  IT  BOUGHT.  263 

And  ever  so  many  books.  And  a  watch."  And 
Elsie's  list  was  interrupted  by  the  necessity  of 
taking  breath. 

"  Hoo  !  Is  n't  that  just  like  a  girl  !  Why,  you 
couldn't  get  half  those  with  that,  you  silly," 
put  in  her  brother.  "  I  'd  get  something  quite 
different.  I  'd  get  a  pony,  a  real  strong  useful 
pony,  which  father  could  plough  with  when 
I  was  n't  riding  him.  That  would  be  some- 
thing like." 

"Your  pony  would  cost  as  mu.ch  as  Elsie's 
piano,"  remarked  Jean. 

"Well,  what  would  you  get?"  said  James. 
"  Will  you  get  some  nice  clothes  I " 

"  Pshaw  !  Clothes  !  Will  you  get  a  watch, 
Jean  ?  Or  a  breastpin  and  ear-rings  ?  " 

"  Now,  what  use  would  ear-rings  be  to  her 
when  she  hasn't  any  holes  in  her  ears,  Elsie  I 
Do  tell  us,  Jean  —  what  will  you  get  !  " 

Jean  laughed.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  world 
was  bound  to  find  out  what  she  meant  to  do 
with  her  money. 


264  JEAN'S  MONEY, 

"  I  '11  tell  you  by  and  by,"  she  said.  "  I  've 
made  up  my  mind,  I  think,  what  I  'd  rather 
do,  but  I  want  to  talk  to  father  first."  They 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill  as  she  spoke,  and 
she  pushed  open  the  gate  for  the  others  to  enter, 
paying  no  attention  to  Elsie's  rather  fretful  — 

"'By  and  by.  That's  a  long  time.  Tell  us 
now,  Jean,  please  do." 

After  tea  was  the  best  time  to  catch  Farmer 
Thompson  at  leisure.  At  that  hour  he  usually 
treated  himself  to  half  an  hour's  rest  and  a 
pipe  in  the  porch,  and  there  Jean  found  him 
on  this  particular  night. 

"  Mr.  Gillicraft  paid  me  this  to-day,"  she 
said,  handing  him  the  roll  of  bills. 

"Ay.  They're  prompt  with  it,  but  that's 
but  fair.  Well,  my  lass  —  it 's  a  good  bit  of 
money.  What  '11  ye  do  with  your  gains  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  something  I  was  thinking  of, 
father  —  if  you  approve,  that  is.  It's  a  great 
many  years  since  mother  and  you  came  from 
Scotland  here,  and  she 's  never  been  home 
since,  you  know." 


AND    WHAT  IT  BOUGHT.  265 

"  Twenty-one  years  come  October.  'Tis  a 
long  time,  truly,"  replied  her  father,  letting  a 
curl  of  smoke  escape  from  the  comer  of  his 
mouth. 

"Well  —  there  was  an  advertisement  in  the 
paper,  awhile  ago,  about  a  steamboat  line,  the 
Anchor  Line,  it 's  called,  I  think,  which  goes  to 
Glasgow,  and  it  said  great  reductions  for  this 
summer,  and  people  could  go  and  come  back 
in  the  second  cabin  for  forty-five  dollars.  Now 
if  mother 'd  like  it,  and  I  know  she  would,  she 
and  I  could  go  for  what  I  've  got,  and  she  could 
visit  grandmother,  and  there  'd  be  thirty  dollars 
left  for  other  things,  such  as  going  down  to 
New  York  and  from  Glasgow  to  Greenock. 
Grandmother  lives  in  Greenock,  does  n't  she  ? 
Do  you  think  it 's  a  good  plan,  father  I " 

"  Well,  it  depends  on  your  mother.  If  she 
likes  to  go,  I  'd  say  nought  against  it,"  replied 
her  father.  Then,  his  habitual  Scotch  caution 
relaxing,  he  added  :  "  You  Ve  a  good  lass,  Jean. 
A  good,  dutiful  lass  to  think  of  this.  Your 


266  JEAA^S  MONEY, 


granny  's  an  old  woman  by  now,  and  I  Ve 
known  this  long  back  that  your  mother  was 
wearying  to  see  her  again  before  she  dies,  and 
I  M  have  sent  her  myself,  only  I  never  could 
see  the  way  to  do  it.  Scotland  's  a  long  travel, 
and  money  's  none  too  plenty  noyv-a-days  with 
any  of  us.  1  11  just  smoke  my  pipe  out,  and 
then  you  and  I  '11  go  in  and  talk  it  over  with 
mother." 

Mrs.  Thompson  heard  the  proposal  with  a 
tremulous  mixture  of  bewilderment  and  joy. 
She  was  not  a  strong  woman,  and  fever-and- 
ague,  that  insidious  scourge  of  so  many  coun- 
try districts,  had  struck  at  the  hill-farm  the 
year  before,  and  left  her  weakened  and  languid 
for  months  afterward.  The  neighbors  were  told 
the  new  plan,  and  preparations  set  on  foot  at 
once,  that  Jean  might  lose  as  little  as  possible 
of  her  brief  vacation  time.  Everybody  was 
interested  and  excited.  Mrs.  Parsons  brought 
warm  knitted  hoods  to  be  worn  at  sea  ;  Mrs. 
Wright,  a  waterproof  clothes-bag  and  a  box  of 


AND    WHAT  IT  BOUGHT.  267 

Ayer's  Pills  ;  Mrs.  Gillicraft  two  linen  catch- 
alls  for  state-room  use,  with  pockets,  and  pin- 
cushions well  furnished  with  pins. 

"  I  envy  you,"  said  Maria  Parsons,  who  was 
Jean's  special  friend.  "  I  always  was  wild  to 
travel,  but  there  !  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  shall, 
so  long  as  I  live.  Some  folks  are  born  lucky. 
You'll  have  a  splendid  time,  Jean." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  replied  Jean,  rather 
dismally. 

"  Think  so  ?  Why,  girl  alive,  don't  you 
know  it  ?  " 

"  Well  no,  I  don't.  The  fact  is,  Maria  — the 
fact  is  —  well  —  I  hate  travelling.  I  don't  look 
forward  to  it  one  bit.  I  shall  be  horribly  sick 
first,  and  then  I  shall  be  horribly  homesick  :  I  'm 
perfectly  sure  of  it.  Dear  me  —  how  I  wish  it 
was  over,  and  we  safely  back." 

"  Good  gracious  ! "  cried  Maria,  opening  her 
eyes.  "  What  on  earth  do  you  go  for,  Jean, 
if  you  feel  that  way  ? " 

"  Only  to  take  mother     She  wants  to  go,  and 


268  JEAN'S  MONEY, 

I  always  said  she  should,  if  ever  I  could  earn 
any  money  to  take  her.  Except  for  that,  I  'd 
gladly  give  you  the  chance,  and  stay  at  home 
instead." 

This  was  not  a  very  bright  beginning  for  so 
long  a  journey.  But  Jean  did  not  think  about 
that.  She  had  the  sturdy  old  Scotch  blood  in 
her,  and  having  once  put  her  hand  to  a  task, 
did  not  look  back. 

Her  expectations  were  realized  so  far  as  the 
voyage  went,  for  they  had  a  rough  passage, 
and  both  she  and  her  mother  were  sick  for  more 
than  half  the  way  over.  It  was  dull  work 
enough  for  a  strong,  active  girl  to  lie  day  after 
day  in  a  narrow  berth,  watching  the  curtains 
swing  and  the  vessel  rock,  and  very  often  Jean 
said  to  herself,  "  I  can't  imagine  what  people 
want  to  go  to  Europe  for.  It 's  horrid  !  I  only 
wish  Maria  were  in  my  place  —  since  she  want- 
ed to  come  so  much,  and  I  at  home  instead. 
I  'm  sure  I  'd  change  in  a  minute,  if  I  could." 

Matters  mended  toward  the  last,  and  by  the 


AND    WHAT  IT  BOUGHT.  209 

time  the  steamer  entered  the  Frith  of  Clyde, 
Mrs.  Thompson,  as  well  as  Jean,  was  able  to 
be  on  deck.  It  was  a  fine  day,  and  as  they 
slowly  steamed  up  the  beautiful  Frith,  between 
richly  cultivated  shores,  with  wooded  hills 
dotted  with  country-seats  rising  behind,  and 
purple  mountain  outlines  still  farther  back, 
something  new  stirred  in  Jean's  mind,  a  quite 
unlooked-for  excitement  and  pleasure,  which 
roused  and  woke  her  mind  to  the  glad  reception 
of  fresh  impressions.  It  was  the  first  reward  of 
her  unselfishness,  but  she  had  looked  for  no 
reward,  and  had  been  conscious  of  no  unselfish- 
ness ;  so  it  came  with  the  zest  of  unexpected- 
ness, and  was  doubly  delightful. 

"  Mother,  there  's  a  castle  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"I  truly  think  it's  a  real  castle.  It  looks  just 
like  the  pictures  of  them." 

"And   what   for   no?"   replied  her  mother, 
whose    Scotch  seemed  to  revive  and   broaden 
with  the  very  aspect  of  her  native    shores  - 
"what  for  should  it  na'  be  a  castle  I     Mony's 


270  JEAN'S  MONEY, 

the  castle  I  Ve  seen  in  my  childish  time.  Oh  ! 
there  's  the  Cathedral,  Jean,  and  the  Custom 
House,  and  the  bonny  Monument.  I  weel  re- 
member them  a7,  lang  as  't  is.  And  there  — 
Jean,  see  by  the  pillar  —  I  'm  most  sure  that 's 
your  uncle  Andrew.  I  know  him  by  the  bonny 
shoulders,  .and  the  head  above  everybody 
else's ;  but  dear,  he 's  grown  much  older  since 
—  much  older." 

This  was  no  unnatural  result  of  twenty-one 
years  of  separation,  but  at  that  moment  Mrs. 
Thompson  did  not  remember  this.  "  It 's  like 
a  dream,"  she  kept  on  repeating.  "  This  is 
Glasgow,  and  that's  my  brother  that  I  never 
looked  to  see  again  !  It 's  like  a  dream,  Jean." 

If  they  had  turned  back  then  and  there  for 
thirteen  more  days  of  weary  sea,  Jean  would 
have  felt  rewarded  for  her  journey  by  the  half- 
tearful  rapture  which  shone  in  her  mother's 
face  at  that  moment.  But  they  did  not  turn 
back.  They  landed  instead,  and,  with  Uncle 
Andrew's  assistance,  were  soon  in  the  train  for 


AND    WHAT  IT  BOUGHT.  271 

Greenock.  He  and  his  sister  plunged  at  once 
into  conversation  in  Scotch  so  much  broader 
than  Jean  was  used  to,  that  she  could  hardly 
follow  it.  So  she  looked  out  of  the  window 
instead  of  talking,  and  there  was  plenty  there 
to  keep  both  eyes  and  mind  happily  busy. 
The  trees,  the  buildings,  the  silver  links  and 
windings  of  the  Frith,  the  pearl-gray  shimmer- 
ing atmosphere  which  enveloped  all  —  it  was 
unlike  anything  she  had  ever  seen,  and  gave  her 
a  pleasure  which  she  had  not  expected  to  feel. 

Grandmother's  house,  or  flat,  was  in  an  old- 
fashioned  street.  It  was  rather  barely  furnished 
to  American  eyes,  but  very  clean  and  orderly, 
and  there  was  nothing  bare  in  the  greeting 
given  by  the  sweet-faced  old  Scotchwoman  to 
her  long-unseen  child  and  that  child's  child. 
Jean  was  amused  to  hear  her  mother  spoken 
to  as  if  'she  were  still  almost  a  baby,  while  to 
herself  granny  accorded  a  certain  respect  and 
distance  as  to  a  stranger  and  a  woman  grown. 
Her  size  and  age  seemed  an  entire  surprise  to 


272  JEAWS  MONEY, 

her  Scotch  relations,  who  had  apparently  never 
realized  a  growth  of  which  they  had  only  heard 
in  letters. 

"  She 's  a  big  hearty  lass,  indeed,  she 's  a 
very  goodly  lass  !  "  granny  kept  on  saying. 
"  She 's  as  large  for  a  maiden  as  Sandy  is  for 
a  lad.  Aweel,  I  can't  understand  it,  Maggie. 
Ye  were  always  the  least  of  my  weans,  always 
the  wee  one  of  the  flock,  and  it 's  muckle 
strange  that  your  lass  should  be  bigger  than 
ony  of  her  cousins,  and  your  sisters  all  bigger 
than  yersel.  I  'm  clear  puzzled  about  it." 

But  puzzlement  was  lost  in  pleasure  when 
she  understood  that  the  whole  journey  was  the 
gift  of  Jean,  the  earnings  of  a  year's  hard  work. 
She  took  the  girl  into  her  arms,  held  her  tight, 

and  kissed  her  heartily.     • 

i 

"  She  who  goes  a  Blithering  shall  find  violets 
in  the  lanes,"  she  said,  quoting  the  pretty  old 
English  proverb.  "  Ye  '11  find  it  so,  my  dear 
lassie.  Ye '11  be  the  richer  all  your  life  for 
giving  your  mither  and  me  the  chance  of 


AND    WHAT  IT  BOUGHT.  '21  :\ 

meeting  again  once  more  on  this  side  the  grave, 
trust  me,  Jean,  ye  will." 

"  I  'm  richer  already,  granny,"  whispered 
Jean,  warmed  through  and  through  by  the 
words  and  the  embrace.  There  was  no  stiff- 
ness between  her  and  grandmother  after  that. 
So  granny's  love  was  the  first  thing  bought 
witli  Jean's  money. 

"  Sandy "  was  Uncle  Andrew's  son.  His 
mother  had  long  been  dead,  and  he  and  his 
father  lived  with  granny  in  her  flat.  He  was 
a  manly  young  fellow,  steady  and  cheery  both, 
and  doing  well  as  clerk  in  one  of  the  large 
Greenock  shipping-houses,  with  good  chances 
of  promotion.  The  advent  of  a  cousin  from 
America  was  an  event  in  his  life.  He  liked 
Jean  at  once  and  Jean  liked  him,  so  they  grew 
friends  speedily. 

Under  his  guidance,  Jean's  "  violet"  gather- 
ing went  on  prosperously.  There  were  many 
interesting1  things  to  see  and  do  in  the  neig'h- 

o  o  o 

borhood    of    Greenock,   and    of    Glasgow,    to 

18 


274  JEAWS  MOXEY, 

which  place  they  ran  down  more  than  once  in 
a  cheap  train.  There  were  rows  on  the  Frith, 
and  walks  into  the  lovely  hill  country,  and 
visits  to  the  different  aunts  and  cousins,  all  of 
whom  wanted  to  see  Mrs.  Thompson  and  make 
acquaintance  with  Jean,  and  once  they  went 
as  far  as  Edinburgh  with  third-class  return 

tickets,  and  Jean  saw  the  wonders  of  Holvrood, 

«/ 

the  Castle,  and  Arthur's  Seat.  It  seemed  to  put 
new  color  and  life  into  history  and  all  the  past, 
this  glimpse  of  the  places  where  great  tilings 
had  happened.  Jean's  interest  in  books  waked 
up,  and  as  Sandy  owned  a  share  in  a  good 
People's  Library,  she  was  able  to  get  at  various 
histories  and  fictions  which,  read  on  the  spot, 
had  a  value  and  meaning  which  they  could  not 
have  had  elsewhere.  Her  mind  broadened,  she 
took  in  more  of  the  width  and  grasp  of  life,  and 
this  mental  growth  and  stimulus  was  another 
thing  —  and  a  very  good  one  —  bought  with 
Jean's  money. 

So  the  short  two  months  sped  swiftly  away, 


AND    WHAT  IT  BOUGHT.  275 

and  the  time  came  to  go  back.  It  was  a  hard 
parting,  as  partings  must  be,  where  seas  roll 
between,  and  old  age  makes  fresh  meetings 
improbable.  But  with  all  its  hardness,  all  of 
them  felt  that  it  had  been  blessed  to  meet. 
Sandy  was  even  more  cast  down  than  granny, 
but  he  consoled  himself  by  a  long  whispered 
talk  with  Jean  the  last  evening,  in  which  he 
promised  to  come  out  to  America  in  two  years 
from  then  ;  and  Jean,  I  am  inclined  to  think, 
half  promised  to  go  back  again  to  Scotland 
with  him.  But  this  is  neither  here  nor  there 
in  our  story,  and,  as  we  all  know,  it  is  not 
polite  to  listen  when  people  whisper.  So  the 
travellers  sailed  again  over  the  wide  Atlantic, 
the  journey  not  seeming  half  so  long  or  so 
hard,  now  that  their  faces  were  set  the  other 
way ;  and  in  a  very  few  days  after  the  home- 
coming, all  they  had  seen  and  done  began  to 
recede  into  dream-like  distance,  and  they  found 
it  almost  impossible  to  realize  that  they  had 
gone  so  far  and  achieved  so  much. 

"  I  told  you  you  would  enjoy  it,"  remarked 


276  JEAN'S  MONEY. 

Maria  Parsons.  People  always  enjoy  being 
able  to  say  "  I  told  you  so." 

"  And  is  your  money  really  all  gone  % " 
said  little  Elsie,  "  every  bit  of  it  gone  !  And 
you  have  n't  got  one  single  thing  of  your  own 
to  keep  out  of  it,  Jean.  What  a  pity  !  " 

"  Ah,  but  I  have,"  replied  Jean.  But  she 
made  no  answer  to  the  further  "  What  ?  " 

"  Elsie  is  sorry  that  I  've  spent  all  my 
money,"  she  told  her  father  that  night.  "  She 
does  n't  think  I  got  much  for  it.  But  it  seems 
to  me  no  one  else  ever  got  so  much  as  I  have. 
I  never  thought  I  should  learn  to  like  travel- 
ling, father,  but  I  did  ;  I  enjoyed  it  ever  so 
much.  Then  I  know  granny  now,  and  Uncle 
Andrew,  and  I  Ve  seen  a  great  deal  of  Scot- 
land, and  mother  is  so  much  stronger,  and  we 
have  so  many  nice  things  to  remember  and 
think  about — that's  a  great,  great  deal  to  get 
with  a  hundred  and  twenty  dollars,  don't  you 
think  so,  father  ?  And  besides  —  " 

But  here  Jean  stopped  and  blushed.  I  think 
that  blush  meant  —  Sandy. 


HOW  THE  STORKS  CAME  AND  WENT. 


|HEN  the  storks  came,  the  spring  came 
too.  Till  then  the  skies  had  been 
gray  and  the  air  cold  and  raw,  while 
the  leaf-buds  on  the  branches  seemed  afraid  to 
peep  from  their  coverings.  But  when  the  call 
of  the  storks  was  heard,  and  the  click  of  their 
large  white  wings,  the  leaves  took  courage, 
unrolled  their  woolly  blankets,  and  presently 
the  trees  were  green.  Soon  other  birds  came 
too.  The  doves  went  to  housekeeping  in  their 
cote  under  the  peak  of  the  roof-gable.  Just 
beneath,  a  pair  of  swallows  built  a  nest  of 
plastered  clay :  the  cherry-tree  in  the  garden 
was  chosen  as  home  by  a  colony  of  lively 
sparrows.  All  the  air  was  astir  with  wings  and 


278  HOW  THE  STORKS 

songs,  and  the  world,  which  for  months  had 
seemed  dead  or  asleep,  waked  suddenly  into 
life  and  motion. 

"  What  a  droll  house  Mother  Stork  seems  to 
be  building ! "  said  the  saucy  swallow,  cocking 
up  one  eye  at  the  long-legged  pair  on  the  roof 
above.  "I  shouldn't  like  such  an  one  at  all. 
Sharp  sticks  everywhere,  no  conveniences,  great 
holes  for  eggs  to  drop  into  and  be  broken.  And 
how  the  wind  must  blow  up  there  !  Give  me  a 
cosey  place  like  this  of  ours." 

"  Give  me  a  nice,  smooth  wooden  box,"  cooed 
the  dove.  "I  don't  fancy  plaster;  it's  damp 
and  rheumatic,  my  mate  says.  But  you 
need  n't  worry  about  Mother  Stork's  eggs. 
They're  too  large  to  drop  through  the  holes 
in  the  branches  and  be  broken." 

"  What  coarse  things  they  must  be ! "  re- 
marked the  swallow,  looking  complacently  at 
the  tiny  clouded  spheres  beneath  her  own  wings. 

"They  are  big,"  agreed  the  dove.  "But 
then,  Mother  Stork  is  big  too." 


CAME   AND    WENT.  271) 

"  Listen  to  those  absurd  creatures ! "  said 
Mother  Stork  to  her  partner.  "  Coarse,  indeed  ! 
My  eggs  !  I  like  that" 

"  Never  mind  them,"  replied  Papa  Stork, 
good-humoredly,  giving  a  crooked  twig  the 
final  shove  to  the  side  of  the  nest. 

Below  on  the  grass,  which  was  still  winter- 
brown,  three  little  children  stood  gazing  wist- 
fully up  at  the  storks. 

"  They  flew  straight  to  our  roof,"  said 
Annchen.  "  Frau  Perl  says  that  means  good 
luck  before  the  year  ends." 

"  What  does  good  luck  mean  I "  asked  Carl, 
the  youngest  boy. 

"It  means  — oh,  all  sorts  of  things,"  replied 
Annchen,  vaguely  :  "  that  the  mother  should 
not  work  so  hard ;  that  we  should  have  plenty, 
—  plenty  to  eat  every  day,  —  and  money,  I 
suppose,  —  and  my  new  shoes  I  've  waited  for 
so  long ;  —  all  sorts  of  things." 

"  Perhaps  my  father  '11  come  back,"  sug- 
gested Fritz,  with  a  joyful  leap. 


280  HOW   THE  STORKS 

Annchen  shook  her  brown  head.  The  boys 
were  too  little  to  understand,  but  she  knew 
well  that  the  father  would  never  come  back. 
She  recollected  the  day  when  lie  marched  away 
with  the  other  soldiers  to  fight  the  French. 
He  had  lifted  her  in  his  arms.  She  had  played 
with  his  beard  and  kissed  him,  and  Fritz  had 
cried  after  the  glittering  helmet-spike,  till  at 
last  the  father  took  the  helmet  off  and  gave  it 
him  to  play  with.  Then  the  drum-tap  sounded, 
and  he  had  to  go.  The  mother  had  watched 
awhile  from  the  window,  and  when  she  could 
no  longer  see  anything,  had  sat  down  to  sob  and 
cry  with  her  apron  over  her  face.  Annchen 
recollected  it  perfectly,  and  that  other  dreadful 
day  when  Corporal  Spes  of  the  same  regiment 
had  come,  with  his  arm  tied  up  and  a  bandage 
round  his  head,  to  tell  how  the  father  had  been 
shot  in  one  of  the  battles  before  Paris,  and 
buried  in  French  soil.  Everything  had  been 
sad  since.  There  was  less  black  bread  at  dinner- 
time, less  soup  in  the  pot,  sometimes  no  soup 


CAME  AND    WENT.  281 

at  all,  and  tlie  mother  worked  all  day  and  far 
into  the  night,  and  cried  bitterly  when  she 
thought  the  children  were  not  looking.  Ann- 
chen  was  too  young  to  comprehend  the  full 
cause  of  these  tears,  but  she  felt  the  sadness  ;  it 
was  like  a  constant  cloud  over  her  childish  sun. 
Now  the  stork  was  come  to  their  roof,  which 
all  the  neighbors  said  meant  something  good. 
Perhaps  the  happy  days  would  begin  again. 

"  How  I  hope  they  will ! "  she  whispered  to 
herself. 

"  Hope  who  will  ?  "  asked  the  mother,  passing 
behind  with  an  armful  of  wood. 

Annchen  felt  abashed. 

"The  storks,"  she  murmured.  "Frau  Perl 
said  when  they  build  on  a  roof  it  brings  good 
fortune  always."  The  mother  sighed. 

"There  is  no  good  fortune  for  us  any  more," 
she  said  sadly.  "  Even  the  dear  stork  cannot 
undo  what  is  done." 

"But  are  n't  the  storks  lucky  birds ?"  asked 
Fritz.  "Jan  Stein  said  they  were." 


282  HOW   THE  STORKS 

"Ah,  luck,  luck!"  answered  the  mother. 
"  That  is  a  word  only.  People  use  it,  but  what 
does  it  mean?" 

"Is  n't  there  any  luck,  then?"  asked  Annchen. 

"  There  is  the  good  God,  dear,  —  that  is 
better,"  replied  the  mother,  and  carried  her 
wood  into  the  house. 

"Jan  said  the  stork  was  God's  bird,"  ob- 
served little  Carl. 

"  That  's  it,"  said  Annchen,  brightening. 
"  God's  bird ;  and  the  good  God  may  let  the 
stork  bring  us  good  fortune.  Dear  storkie, 
do  !  If  only  you  would  !  " 

Mamma  Stork  looked  solemnly  down  on  the 
children,  and  wagged  her  head  gravely  up  and 
down.  Annchen  thought  it  was  in  answer  to 
her  appeal. 

"  See,  Fritz  !  see,  Carl !  She  says  she  will !  " 
The  stork  kept  on  nodding,  and  Annchen  went 
in  to  supper,  feeling  happy. 

Days  grew  into  weeks,  and  spring  into  full 
summer.  The  big  eggs  and  the  little  eggs  had 


CAME  AND    WENT.  283 

in  turn  cracked  and  given  place  to  young  birds, 
who  sat  in  the  nests  clamoring  for  food,  and 
being  fed,  caressed,  and  kept  warm  by  their 
mothers.  At  first  the  nestlings  were  ugly, 
featherless  creatures,  and  seemed  all  beaks  and 
appetites  ;  but  presently  they  began  to  grow, 
to  put  out  plumage,  and  become  round  and  fat. 
Soon  they  could  hop  ;  then  they  could  flutter 
their  wings ;  the  air  was  full  of  their  calls 
and  their  swift-moving  bodies.  Mother  Stork's 
babies  were  white  like  herself,  and  had  long 
legs  and  big  bills.  The  swallow  thought  them 
awkward,  and  contrasted  them  proudly  with 
her  own  brisk,  glancing  brood ;  but  in  Mother 
Stork's  eyes  they  were  perfect  in  every  way, 
and  graceful  as  birds  should  be.  The  dove 
thought  the  same  of  her  plump  squabs,  —  each 
parent  was  entirely  satisfied  with  the  kind  of 
child  which  the  Lord  had  sent  her ;  and  that 
was  a  happy  thing,  was  it  not  I 

Summer  was  over,  and  now  it  was  September, 
but  Annchen  had  not  ceased  to  hope  for  the 


284  HO  IV   THE   STOCKS 

good  fortune  which  the  stork's  coming  proph- 
esied. Each  morning,  when  she  woke,  she  ran 
to  the  window  to  see  if  the  lucky  birds  were 
still  in  the  nest.  There  they  were,  but  nothing 
else  happened,  and  the  mother  worked  harder 
than  ever,  and  the  black  loaf  grew  smaller. 
Still  Annchen  hoped. 

"  Do  you  notice  what  a  kind  bird  the  stork 
is  ?  "  said  the  mother  one  night,  as  she  wras  put- 
ting the  children  to  bed.  "  She  never  gets  tired 
of  taking  care  of  her  babies,  nor  beats  them 
with  her  wings,  nor  scolds  them.  Do  you  not 
love  her  for  being  so  amiable  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  the  babies  scold  her,"  remarked 
Fritz  from  his  corner. 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  scolding.  What  they 
say  is,  l  Mother,  we  are  hungry.  We  want  a 
fish  or  a  couple  of  young  frogs  ;  when  will  the 
father  bring  them  ? '  The  little  storks  do  not 
like  to  wait  for  their  dinners  any  more  than 
you  children  do.  I  heard  once  a  story  about 
a  good  Mother  Stork.  Shall  I  tell  it  you  ?  " 


CAME  AND    WENT.  285 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  the  children  ;  but  the 
mother  went  first  for  her  knitting-work,  for 
even  at  the  twilight  hour  she  dared  not  let  her 
fingers  be  idle  for  a  moment. 

"  Once  there  was  a  Frau  Stork,"  she  began, 
"  who  built  a  nest  in  the  roof  of  an  old  shed, 
and  in  it  laid  three  blue  eggs.  Presently  out 
of  the  eggs  came  three  baby  storks,  large  and 
hungry.  Then  was  Frau  Stork  very  proud 
and  glad.  All  day  she  sat  in  the  nest,  keeping 
her  little  ones  warm  under  her  feathers,  while 
Papa  Stork  flew  to  and  fro,  seeking  places  where 
were  ponds  with  fish  and  frogs  ;  and  these  he 
fetched  home  in  his  beak,  and  with  them  fed 
his  brood,  who  sat  always  with  open  mouths 
ready  for  anything  good  which  should  come 
along. 

"  One  day  when  Papa  Stork  was  absent,  and 
Mother  Stork  had  hopped  from  the  nest  to  the 
roof,  she  heard  a  crackling  sound  which  she 
did  not  at  all  understand.  Then  the  air  grew 
thick  and  smoky,  and  there  was  a  smell  of 


286  HOW   THE  STORKS 

burning  wood.  The  shed  was  on  fire !  Frau 
Stork  became  uneasy,  and  called  loudly  for 
her  mate,  but  he  was  too  far  away  to  hear 
her  voice.  Presently  the  smoke  became  more 
dense,  and  a  little  red  tongue  of  flame  crept 
through  the  thatch.  When  it  felt  the  air  it 
grew  large,  swelled,  and  at  last,  like  a  fiery 
serpent,  darted  at  the  nest  and  the  screaming 
brood  within." 

"Oh  dear!  oh  dear!"  cried  the  children, 
sitting  up  in  their  beds.  "  What  did  the  poor 
stork  do  ?  " 

"  She  could  easily  have  flown  away,  you 
know,"  continued  the  mother.  "  There  were 
her  strong  wings,  which  would  have  borne  her 
faster  than  the  fire  could  follow.  But  she  loved 
her  babies  too  well  to  leave  them  like  that. 
She  seized  them  with  her  beak,  and  tried  to 
drag  them  from  the  nest.  But  they  were  too 
heavy,  and  flapped  and  struggled,  hindering 
her,  for  they  did  not  understand  what  she 
wished  to  do.  The  flames  drew  nearer,  the 


CAME  AM)    WENT.  L>S7 

branches  began  to  blaze.  Then  Mother  Stork 
took  her  usual  place  in  the  nest,  gathered  her 
brood  under  her  wings  as  if  to  shield  them, 
bent  her  poor  head,  and  —  " 

"  Oh,  she  did  n't  burn  up  !  —  please  don't 
say  she  did  !  "  interrupted  Annchen. 

"  Yes.  When  Papa  Stork  came  from  the 
pond  with  a  fresh  fish  in  his  beak,  there  was 
no  roof  there,  no  nest,  no  little  storks,  —  only  a 
heap  of  ashes  and  curling  smoke.  Frau  Stork 
loved  her  children  too  well  to  desert  them,  and 
they  all  died  together." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two. 
Annchen  was  sobbing  softly,  and  a  suspicious 
sniff  was  heard  from  the  direction  of  Fritz's 
pillow. 

"  I  hope  our  stork  won't  burn  up,"  said  Carl, 
solemnly. 

"  Yes,  —  because  then  she  won't  bring  us 
good  luck,  you  know,"  added  Fritz. 

"  Do  you  think  the  stork  has  forgotten  ?  " 
whispered  Annchen  to  her  mother.  "  I  Ve 


288  HOW   THE  STORKS 

waited  and  waited  for  her  so  long  that  I  'm 
tired.  Do  they  forget  sometimes  !  " 

"  She  will  have  to  bestir  herself  if  she  is  to 
do  anything  for  us  this  year,"  said  the  mother ; 
and  though  her  heart  was  heavy  enougli  just 
then,  she  smiled  into  Annchen's  eager  eyes. 
"  Autumn  is  here ;  the  winter  will  come  before 
long.  Fran  Stork  and  her  family  may  fly  off 
any  day." 

u  I  shall  have  to  remind  her,"  murmured 
Annchen,  sleepily. 

She  remembered  this  resolution  next  morn- 
ing, and  went  out  into  the  yard.  The  day  was 
chilly;  the  blue  sky,  all  dappled  with  gray, 
looked  as  if  a  storm  were  coming.  Mother 
Stork  was  alone  on  the  roof.  Her  young  ones 
could  fly  now,  and  they  and  their  father  were 
off  somewhere  together. 

"  Mother  Stork,"  said  Annchen,  standing 
close  to  the  wall,  and  speaking  in  a  loud,  confi- 
dential whisper,  "  you  won't  forget  what  you 
promised,  will  you  —  that  day  when  you 


CAME  AND    WENT.  289 

nodded  your  head,  you  know?  The  mother 
says  you  will  fly  away  soon,  but  please  bring 
us  our  good  luck  first.  Poor  mother  works  so 
hard  and  looks  so  pale,  and  sometimes  there  is 
almost  no  dinner  at  all,  and  the  cold  winter  is 
coming,  and  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do,  if 
you  don't  help  us.  Please  do,  Mother  Stork. 
We  can't  wait  till  you  come  again,  it 's  such  a 
long  time.  Pray  fetch  our  good  luck  before 
you  go." 

Mother  Stork,  perched  on  one  leg  on  the 
roof's  edge,  nodded  her  head  up  and  down,  as 
if  considering  the  point.  Then  she  rose  on  her 
large  wings  and  flew  away.  Annchen  marked 
her  course  through  the  air,  and  her  eyes  grew 
large  and  eager  with  delight. 

"  She  has  gone  to  the  fen ! "  she  cried. 
"  That 's  where  she  keeps  it.  Oh,  the  dear 
stork  ! " 

"What  is  it?  Who  has  gone  where?" 
asked  the  boys,  running  into  the  yard. 

"Frau   Stork,"  explained  Annchen.     "I  re- 


290  HOW  THE  STORKS 

minded  her  about  it,  —  our  good  luck,  you 
know,  —  and  she  flew  straight  off  to  fetch  it. 
She  went  to  the  fen,  the  beautiful  fen,  where 
I  went  once  with  the  father  —  such  a  place ! 
How  I  should  like  to  go  there  again !  You 
never  saw  such  a  place,  boys  ! " 

"  I  want  to  go  to  the  fen  too,"  said  Carl. 

"  I  wonder  if  we  might !  "  went  on  Annchen, 
thoughtfully.  "It  isn't  so  very  far.  I  didn't 
get  tired  at  all  that  day  when  I  went  before. 
And  we  could  help  Frau  Stork,  perhaps.  I 
wonder  if  we  might." 

"I'll  go  in  and  ask  the  mother,"  said  Fritz, 
running  to  the  door  with  an  eager  demand: 
"Mother,  may  we  go  for  a  walk,  —  Annchen 
and  Carl  and  I?" 

The  mother,  who  was  very  busy,  nodded. 

"  Don't  go  too  far,"  she  called  after  him. 

"  Mother  says  we  may,"  shouted  Fritz,  as 
he  ran  again  into  the  yard ;  and  the  children, 
overjoyed,  set  forth  at  once. 

It  was  quite  a  distance  to  the  fen,  but  the 


CAME  AND    WENT.  2i)l 

road  was  a  plain  one,  and  Annchen  had  no 
difficulty  in  following  it.  When  she  went  there 
before,  not  only  her  father  had  been  along,  but 
Ernst  the  wood-cutter,  with  his  donkey  ;  so, 
when  tired,  she  had  rested  herself  by  riding  on 
top  of  the  fagots.  She  was  three  years  older 
now,  and  the  sturdy  lads  did  not  mind  the  dis- 
tance at  all,  but  ran  forward  merrily,  encour- 
aging each  other  to  make  haste. 

The  sun  had  broken  through  the  clouds,  and 
shone  hotly  on  the  white  road.  But  as  they 
neared  the  fen,  they  passed  into  shade.  Softly 
they  lifted  the  drooping  branches  of  the  trees, 
and  entered,  moving  carefully,  that  they  might 
not  disturb  the  stork.  A  little  farther,  and  the 
ground  grew  wet  under  foot.  Bright  streams 
of  water  appeared  here  and  there.  But  between 
the  streams  were  ridges  and  island-like  tufts  of 
moss  and  dried  grasses,  and  stepping  from  one 
of  these  to  the  other,  the  little  ones  passed  on, 
dry-shod.  Tall  reeds  and  lance-shaped  rushes 
rose  above  their  heads  as  they  crept  along, 


292  HO IV  THE  STORKS 

whispering  low  to  each  other.  The  air  was 
hushed  and  warm,  there  was  a  pleasant  fra- 
grance of  damp  roots  and  leaves.  The  children 
liked  the  fen  extremely.  Their  feet  danced  and 
skipped,  and  they  would  gladly  have  shouted, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  need  of  keeping  quiet. 

Suddenly  a  beautiful  glossy  water-rat,  with 
a  long  tail,  glanced  like  a  ray  of  quick  sun- 
shine from  under  a  bank,  and  at  sight  of  the 
intruders  flashed  back  again  into  his  hole. 
Fritz  was  enchanted  at  this  sight.  He  longed 
to  stay  and  dig  into  the  bank  in  search  of  the 
rat.  What  fun  it  would  be  to  take  him  home 
and  tame  him  !  But  Annchen  whispered  im- 
ploringly, and  Carl  tugged  at  his  fingers;  so 
at  last  he  gave  up  searching  for  the  rat,  and 
went  on  with  the  others.  They  were  near  the 
middle  of  the  fen  now,  and  Mother  Stork,  they 
thought,  must  be  close  at  hand. 

Pop  !  glug  !  An  enormous  bull-frog  leaped 
from  a  Jog,  and  vanished  into  the  pool  with  a 
splash.  Next  a  couple  of  lovely  water-flies, 


CAME  AND    WENT.  293 

with  blue,  shining  bodies  and  gauze-like  wings, 
appeared  hovering  in  the  air.  They  rose  and 
sank  and  circled  and  whirled  like  enchanted 
things ;  the  children,  who  had  never  seen  such 
flies  before,  felt  as  if  they  had  met  the  first 
chapter  of  a  fairy-story,  and  stood  holding  their 
breaths,  lest  the  pretty  creatures  should  take 
alarm  and  fly  away.  It  was  not  till  the  water- 
flies  suddenly  whirled  off  and  disappeared,  that 
they  recollected  their  errand,  and  moved  on. 

All  at  once  Annchen,  who  was  in  advance  of 
the  rest,  stopped  short  and  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion. The  parting  of  the  reeds  had  shown  her 
a  pool  larger  than  any  they  had  seen  before, 
round  which  grew  a  fringe  of  tall  flowering 
water-plants.  Half  in,  half  out  of  the  pool, 
lay  a  black  log  with  a  hollow  end,  and  beside 
it,  dabbling  with  her  beak  as  if  searching  for 
something,  stood  a  large  white  bird.  At  the 
sound  of  voices  and  rustling  feet,  the  bird 
spread  a  pair  of  broad  wings  and  flew  slowly 
upward,  turning  her  head  to  look  at  the  chil- 
dren as  she  went. 


294  HOW    THE   STORKS 

"  It  was?  cried  Annchen.  "  Oh,  Mother 
Stork,  we  did  n't  mean  to  frighten  you.  Please 
come  back  again.  We  '11  go  away  at  once  if 
you  don't  like  to  have  us  here." 

But  Mother  Stork  was  no  longer  visible. 
She  had  dropped  into  some  distant  part  of  the 
fen  —  where,  the  children  could  not  see. 

"  Her  eyes  looked  angry,"  said  little  Carl. 

"  Oh  dear !  "  sighed  Annchen.  "  I  hope  she 
is  n't  angry.  That  would  be  dreadful !  What 
will  poor  mother  do  if  she  is  ?  And  it  would 
be  all  our  fault." 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  whined  Carl.  "  It 's 
dinner-time.  I  want  my  dinner  very  much." 

All  of  them  wanted  to  go  home,  but  it  was 
not  an  easy  or  quick  task  to  do  so.  The  chil- 
dren had  wandered  farther  than  they  knew.  It 
took  a  long  time  to  find  their  way  out  of  the 
fen,  and  when  at  last  they  reached  the  rushy 
limits,  and  stood  on  open  ground,  it  was  an 
unfamiliar  place,  and  much  farther  from  home 
than  the  side  where  they  had  entered.  Wear}-. 


CAME  AND    WENT.  295 

hungry,  and  disheartened,  they  trudged  along 
for  what  to  them  seemed  hours,  and  it  was  long 
past  midday  when  at  last  they  reached  the 
familiar  gate. 

Frau  Stork  had  got  there  before  them,  and 
stood  on  the  roof  beside  her  mate,  gazing 
down  as  the  sorry  little  procession  filed  beneath. 
Annchen  had  no  heart  to  greet  her  as  she  passed. 
She  was  tired,  and  a  dread  lest  their  long  ab- 
sence should  have  frightened  or  angered  the 
mother  added  weight  to  her  fatigue,  and  made 
her  heart  sink  heavily  as  they  opened  the  door. 

The  mother  did  not  start  or  run  forward  to 
meet  them  as  the  children  expected  she  would 
do.  She  sat  by  the  table,  and  some  one  sat 
opposite  her  —  a  tall,  stately  officer  in  uniform, 
with  an  order  on  his  breast.  His  helmet  lay 
on  the  table,  with  some  papers  scattered  about 
it.  When  the  children  came  in,  he  turned  and 
looked  at  them  out  of  a  pair  of  kind  blue  eyes. 

"  Ah,"  he  said.  "  These  are  the  little  ones, 
dame  I " 


296  HOW  THE  STORKS 

"  Yes,"  said  the  mother,  "  these  are  Ms  chil- 
dren. Take  off  your  hats,  boys ;  and,  Annchen, 
make  your  reverence.  This  is  the  Herr  Baron, 
your  father's  captain,  children." 

Carl  stared  with  round  eyes  at  the  splendid 
Herr  Baron,  while  Annchen  demurely  dropped 
her  courtesy.  The  captain  lifted  Fritz  and 
perched  him  on  his  knee. 

"  My  fine  fellow,"  he  said,  "  you  have  your 
father's  face,"  —  and  he  stroked  Fritz's  yellow 
hair,  while  Fritz  played  with  the  bright  buttons 
of  the  uniform.  The  captain  and  the  mother 
went  on  talking.  Annchen  did  not  understand 
all  they  said,  but  she  saw  that  her  mother 
looked  happier  than  for  a  long  time  before,  and 
that  made  her  feel  happy  too. 

At  last  the  captain  rose  to  go.  He  kissed  the 
children,  and  Annchen  saw  him  put  a  purse  into 
her  mother's  hands. 

"  I  take  shame  to  myself  that  I  left  you  so 
long  without  aid,"  he  said;  "  but  keep  up  heart, 
dame.  Your  pension  will  no  doubt  be  granted 


The  Captain  lifted  Fritz  and  perched  him  on  his  knee.  —  PAGE  296. 


CAME  AND    WENT.  297 

you,  and  I  will  see  that  you  and  the  children 
are  cared  for,  as  a  brave  man's  family  should 
be.  So  good-day,  and  God  bless  you  !  " 

"  May  He  bless  you,  Herr  Baron,"  sobbed 
the  widow,  as  he  went  away. 

"  What  is  it,  mother,  —  why  do  you  cry  ?  " 
asked  little  Carl  at  last,  pulling  her  sleeve. 

"  For  joy,  dear.  The  good  Baron  has  brought 
your  father's  back  pay.  I  can  discharge  my 
debts  now,  and  you  need  hunger  no  more." 

"It  is  the  good  luck  come  at  last.  I  knew  it 
would,"  said  Annchen. 

"  We  will  thank  God  for  it,"  said  her  mother. 
And  they  all  knelt  down  and  repeated  "  Our 
Father,"  that  beautiful  prayer  which  suits 
equally  our  time  of  joy  and  our  time  of 
sorrow. 

But  when  the  prayer  was  said,  and  the 
mother,  smiling  through  her  tears,  was  bustling 
about  to  cook  such  a  supper  as  the  little  family 
had  not  tasted  for  many  a  day,  dear,  supersti- 
tious little  Annchen  stole  softly  to  the  door  and 
went  into  the  yard. 


298      HOW   THE  STORKS   CAME  AND    WENT. 

The  young  storks  were  asleep  with  their 
heads  under  their  wings,  and  Frau  Stork,  poised 
on  one  leg,  was  gazing  about  with  drowsy  eyes. 
She  looked  bigger  than  ever  against  the  dim 
evening  sky. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  stork !  "  said  Annchen. 


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